A Cold Dark Place

by Gregg Olsen

  Not like mine back home, Emily thought.

  The furnishings were all antiques, of the most simple and elegant style. None of that ridiculous rococo French crap that most Americans clamored for once they had a few million to rub together. Emily noticed a landscape behind a settee, but suppressed the urge to get close enough to study it. She was sure it was a Constable, but she wasn’t about to tip her art history class hand by saying so. Few residences in Seattle could make the pages of Architectural Digest, Emily mused to herself, but this one could.

  The Espositos might be new money, but their taste—or their hired interior designer’s—was decidedly old school.

  Ensconced in her grand living room, Tina put up her hostess facade. It was merely a mask. Beneath her fine silk blouse, it was clear that her heart was beating at an accelerated rate. She was scared.

  “Can I offer you some coffee?” She pointed to a mohair sofa. “Please take a seat.”

  “No coffee, thank you,” Emily said. “We’re not here on a social call, Tina. We’re here to talk about the murder of a close friend of yours.”

  The remark brought a hard stare from Tina, then a curt response. “Bonnie and I weren’t friends.” She poured some coffee into a dainty china cup and proceeded to sprinkle a blue packet of sweetener into the dark brew. Then she stirred.

  The wheels were turning. She was buying time.

  “But you were,” Emily said. “You called her five times this week.”

  Tina continued to stir like she was paddling a river. Christopher glanced at Emily. They both knew what was going on.

  Buying more time. Time to think.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tina said stiffly. She picked up the tinkling china cup and saucer and drank.

  “Why are you making us treat you like this?” Emily said.

  “How so?”

  “Like you’re a liar. We have the phone records. We know you called her.”

  An overweight longhaired mini dachshund waddled in and jumped up on Tina’s lap. “Millicent,” she said. Tina seemed grateful for the intrusion. She started stroking the dog’s fat belly.

  Emily leaned forward. “What did you talk to Bonnie about?”

  Tina said nothing.

  “If you’ll look at the duration of the calls,” Chris interjected, “you’ll see they were very short.”

  Tina stammered, pretending to be unhappy with her coffee, her dog, her maid taking the day off. She was beginning to unravel. Her face was red now and she was petting the dog with such pressure, both detectives were sure the poor animal would yelp in pain if she didn’t stop.

  Chris pressed harder. “What was the nature of the calls? We have to know.”

  Tina just sat there. It was almost as if she wasn’t listening.

  “Do you get this?” It was Emily taking charge. “The woman’s been murdered.”

  “Right. I know,” she finally answered. Millicent the dog jumped to the floor and Tina stood up. “But if I tell you what I know you’ll think I killed her.”

  Emily glanced at Christopher. This was the money shot. “Try us,” she said. Her words were a command, soft, but not without some very real force.

  Tina bent over and set her coffee on the table tray. “I didn’t kill her. I couldn’t kill anyone.”

  “All right.” Christopher was standing now, too. “Talk to us.”

  With her arms wrapped around her like she was fighting off the chill of the air conditioner, Tina started across the room. She wasn’t having any of it just then. “I think I might need a lawyer.”

  Emily indicated to Christopher that he stay put. She took Tina by the arm and they moved to the breakfast room off the kitchen. “Look, Bonnie was a big girl. I doubt you killed her and moved her body around that house. But you do know something. If you get a lawyer involved it’ll just make things messier and more public. You don’t want that, do you?”

  Tina’s hands were trembling then. She tried to steady them by clasping them together.

  “I just don’t want my husband to know.”

  Emily nodded. It was a false assurance, but she needed to nudge the woman into saying what she knew. “I can’t guarantee anything. But trust me. I will do what I can to keep your name out of this. Tina, what do you know?”

  Tears were streaming down Tina’s face and she looked for a tissue. Finding none, and not wanting to go back out to the living room and be seen by Christopher Collier, she took a linen napkin from a sideboard drawer and dabbed at her eyes.

  “I had a baby.” She stopped talking as she fought to form the words that would reveal her darkest secret. “I gave it up for adoption.”

  Pieces were falling into place.

  “Through Bonnie at Angel’s Nest?”

  “Right. Bonnie helped me.”

  “A lot of young women have given up babies when they couldn’t care for them.”

  Tina set her napkin down and flattened and folded it. “That’s not what happened. I had a job. I wasn’t some dumb girl.”

  “But you did what you thought was right.”

  Tina was crying so hard now, she could no longer speak with any clarity. A few words tumbled from her lips, but they were nearly unintelligible. Whatever she was about to say had been buried for a long time. It wasn’t going to come out without a fight. Right then, Tina Winston Esposito was fighting a losing battle. She could not hide it any longer. She was in quicksand.

  “Take your time. It’ll be all right.”

  Tina steadied herself. “Please,” she said, “don’t tell Rod. Promise. Promise me. Don’t tell anyone.” Her pretty eyes were pleading. Her hands were now held like she was praying.

  In fact, she was.

  “I’ll do my best. What is it?”

  “My baby’s father was Dylan Walker.”

  It took almost half an hour to calm her down. By then, Tina Esposito had been ravaged by her emotions. Her blond hair was entirely limp, her carefully applied makeup had left her face for the folds of a linen napkin. She no longer looked like the woman who lived in that fabulous penthouse, but a stranger at odds with all of her surroundings. She was frightened and ashamed. She seemed short of breath in the way that an asthmatic might while confronting the last flight of a staircase.

  “Relax. We’ll get through this.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You can. You will.”

  Emily went to the refrigerator and retrieved some bottled water. Tina’s getting ready to talk. Just have to keep at her. Give her the space she needs.

  “My Xanax is in the cabinet to the left of the sink, behind the Earl Grey,” she said.

  By then, Christopher had joined them, but with the shock of the revelation, he abdicated the role of lead interviewer to Emily, who was doing all she could to reassure Tina.

  “There’s no need for this to come out,” she said. “But we do have to know everything.”

  “How can I be sure?” Tina suddenly looked like a middle-aged woman with a past that finally caught up with her. “My husband will leave me.”

  “He wouldn’t do that,” Emily said.

  “You don’t know Rod. He’s all about appearances. This is his home. His money. It all comes from his carefully manufactured image. It matters.”

  “Tell us everything and then we’ll go,” Christopher said. “If we need to talk with you later, we’ll arrange a discreet location. We’re not here to ruin your life for something stupid you did a long time ago. Okay?”

  Tina shook her head. “I can’t say that I thought I’d be able to live my whole life having swept this under the carpet. The truth is, I’ve never gone a day without wondering if someone would come knocking on my door and asking, ‘Are you my mother?’”

  Christopher sat next to Emily, facing Tina. “Tell us what happened.” His calm, understanding tone seemed to say, don’t be embarrassed. Don’t hold back. You can trust us.

  Tina stayed silent, collecting her thoughts. She closed her eyes. Emily coul
d see how hard this was, that Tina was fighting the compulsion to stay closed up. To lie.

  “All right. But I want you to know that whatever I did, whatever stupid mistake I did, I’ve regretted it for a lifetime. It isn’t me. My therapist has taught me not to let it define me. So I won’t. I just won’t.”

  Tina told them how it started, how the whole love affair with Dylan Walker had blossomed into something sexual.

  “God, I know, you think I fell for him because he was so handsome. But it wasn’t like that. It was through his words. It was like he could see into my soul. I know that sounds completely ridiculous, but the man had a gift. He was one of those rare people who could look right at you and know everything about you. Everything that mattered to you.”

  “I know the type,” Emily said. “The world is full of charmers.”

  The disclosure seemed to calm Tina. She brightened slightly. “Maybe you do understand? I have beat myself up for almost twenty years. You’d probably be surprised to know that it wasn’t until very recently that I’ve been able to put the blame on him, rather than myself.”

  Chris shot Emily a look, but she ignored it. Chris was the kind of man who never once considered that any actions were the result of another’s control. He was all about personal responsibility.

  Tina told them that when she first wrote to Dylan Walker, it was on a whim. But within a few months, she was in so deep that when he asked her to have his baby, she said yes.

  Emily prodded, though she did so as gently as possible. “That’s a huge leap, Tina. How did it happen?”

  Tina stared at her smudged napkin. “I said yes, because I knew it wasn’t possible. We weren’t married before his conviction and therefore there’d never be any conjugal visit. Not in Washington, anyway. It was all a fantasy love affair. I believed in him—I never thought he’d killed anyone, let alone those girls from Meridian. I mean, I knew that to my bones. My love and support for him just masked the reality of what I was about to do.”

  Emily drew her in with a knowing smile, a look of acceptance. “Sometimes we do things that when we look back, we can’t imagine that it was us at all.” It was the kind of comment that made her such a good interviewer. Reveal a little something of yourself—or at least let the subject think you are. It builds trust and trust leads to further disclosure. In this case, Emily’s thoughts were on Reynard Tuttle and Kristi Cooper.

  “It was me,” Tina said. “And I’ve thought about it every day. For years I tried to set it aside. When the Angel’s Nest scandal broke I was just sure that it would come out. I started going to church. I prayed every night. I got on meds. Each moment closer to trial I just knew my life was going to implode. But it didn’t. I was home free. Until you.”

  “Back up,” Christopher said, apparently comfortable enough to interject. “I’d like to be sensitive about this, but I can’t think of a better way to say it. Just how did you manage to get pregnant?”

  Tina Esposito stood and walked to the dining window. It was a slow, purposeful walk. The sunlight on her face showed every flaw. She had been beautiful once, but right now she looked old, tired, and scared. She spoke to the window, refusing to face Christopher or Emily.

  “This is very embarrassing,” she said, her voice a whisper. “During our visits, he’d pass me a sample.”

  She hesitated.

  “A sample?” Emily asked.

  “Oh God, you’re going to make me draw you a picture, aren’t you? Of his semen, you know. I’d excuse myself and use the bathroom.” She searched for the most genteel words to describe what she’d done. Her embarrassment was etched on her pretty face. “I put it inside of me.”

  “Jesus,” Collier said, his tact evaporating with the outrageousness of her disclosure.

  She started crying, and turned to face detectives. “Don’t judge me.”

  “No one is being critical of you,” Emily said. “We just need to know what happened.”

  Christopher pushed it. “How did you get a sample?” He tried to make his affect as flat, as nonjudgmental, as possible. “The semen sample.”

  “This is the embarrassing part,” she said, hesitating while she tried to come up with a way of relating the information as clinically as possible. But there was no way to do that. “He ejaculated into empty ketchup packets.”

  Neither investigator needed Tina to draw “the picture.” They could see it very clearly now. Walker ejaculated into the packets, smuggled them to Tina, and she found her way into a bathroom stall and inserted the tomato-flavored semen into her vagina.

  “It isn’t as if I did this dozens of times,” she said, seeing how unseemly as it all must have appeared. “I got pregnant on my third or fourth attempt. Are we done here? Do you have enough of what you need to know?”

  “Not really,” Christopher said. “What were the plans for the baby? And how did Bonnie get involved?”

  “By the time I was pregnant and past the point of an abortion, I knew that I’d made the worst possible mistake of my life. When I came to visit Dylan one time to talk about his appeal and our fantasy future together, I had met another woman at the motel. Her car broke down and she had to stay another day, otherwise we never would have met. We started talking about our men on the inside. About a fifteen minutes into it, we both realized our men were the same man. She’d been seeing Dylan, too. He’d told her that she was his soul mate. I wised up fast.” Relief washed over her face. She’d told her story and it seemed to calm her for a moment.

  “And Bonnie?” Emily asked. “What about her?”

  “Look, Bonnie was my friend. She was visiting with Dylan, too. Nothing going on there. I mean, she was never his type.”

  Emily caught Christopher’s eye. The black album of clippings and letters surely indicated otherwise.

  “Anyway, she knew I was pregnant and she promised to help me by putting the baby up for adoption. That’s what I did. I couldn’t continue the friendship with Bonnie after that. Every time I saw her, I was reminded of what I’d done.” She looked at her watch. Her husband would be home soon. “Are we finished?”

  “No. Why the calls to Bonnie? And where were you yesterday?”

  “Don’t even go there. I was at the gallery all day. And the calls to Bonnie, that’s the real reason why you’re here, right?”

  “That’s right,” Emily said. “Why were you talking to her?”

  Before she answered, Christopher cut in. “We’ll have to verify your whereabouts, you know.”

  Tina nodded in his direction. “Verify, if you must. I have no reason to lie. At least not anymore. Seeing how you know everything.”

  “Not everything. Why the calls? Why did you reconnect?”

  “Because of this,” she answered. She went to her Prada purse and retrieved a slip of paper. She handed it to Emily. It was a white card, better paper than a standard index card, but about that size, with just five words printed in a now-familiar handwriting.

  I miss you. Love, Dash

  Christopher looked over Emily’s shoulder, then over to Tina. “Dash?”

  Emily answered for Tina, who by then had slumped back into a chair.

  “Dylan Walker. He was called Dashing Dylan by some of the media during the trial. It became his nickname for a time.”

  Tina nodded in solemn agreement. “That’s right. Bonnie and I shortened it to Dash. He liked it. God, we were so screwed up.”

  “You think this is from him?”

  Again, another nod.

  “Where’s the envelope?”

  “There wasn’t one. It was slid under the door. He got into the building.”

  “Did you tell anyone? Your husband? The police?”

  Tina didn’t have to answer. The look on her face was transparent. She hadn’t told a soul.

  “I called Bonnie about it,” she said. “She told me she’d heard from him, too. She was positively giddy. It was as if she’d been waiting for him all these years, and he’d come home to her. She was the keeper of the f
lame. He was in love with her. She was the chosen one. She was dieting to get into a wedding dress she’d picked out. The woman had lost it. Talking to her made me sick, but she was the only one who I could talk to. Rod doesn’t know any of this and I need to keep it that way. I didn’t know what Dash wanted with me, anyway.”

  “Or if this really was written or delivered by him at all,” Emily said, setting the card down on the table. “Did Bonnie have any kids?”

  Tina shook her head rapidly. Clearly the concept was beyond absurd. “Absolutely not. Never. She was too busy brokering out those babies for Angel’s Nest. She had two things in her life. Dylan and that job.”

  “No family?” Emily asked.

  “None that I ever met or heard about.”

  Christopher leaned closer. “We have reason to believe that Nick Martin, the boy who survived the family homicide back in Cherrystone, could be your son.”

  “Oh, no,” she said. “That’s absolutely not possible.”

  Emily had seen the look of denial countless times. So much of what people believe is what they want to believe, not necessarily what is true. Denial is the defense mechanism of first resort. Anger usually follows such confrontations, and Emily prepared herself for it.

  “I know all of this is hard on you,” she said.

  Tina shook her head. “No. It can’t be.” Her tone was confused, but relatively calm. “You don’t understand. Nick Martin couldn’t be mine. I had a baby girl.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Monday, 12:10 P.M., Seattle

  Chris Collier played tug-of-war with the hotel valet as he insisted he didn’t want to give up his keys.

  “I’m dropping her off. She’s a hotel guest.”

  “Key card, please?” the pimply-faced kid asked.

  Emily showed the card and disappeared inside the revolving door. A florist had delivered a new table arrangement, teddy bear sunflowers and spikes of blue delphinium. Freesia filled the air. Ordinarily she’d stop and take in the beauty of the flowers. But not then. All she could think about was Jenna, Tina, Bonnie, and the serial killer that had somehow brought all of them together. She and Chris would talk later, but right then she was on her own. David was mad at her. Kip wasn’t answering. Even Gloria was too busy. She felt a flash of paranoia; a feeling that came from making a major mistake and never being able to rectify it.