by Mary Birk
She was going to make him ask, wasn’t she?
“And Anne?”
“Sorry, Anne left, too.”
He felt disappointment deflate his good mood. “Where’d she go?”
“Over to Meg’s to check on Andrew.”
“Oh.” His stomach fell. Of course she’d gone to see Grainger. What had he expected?
“Afterwards, she was going over to the project. She has excavators coming to work on the gardens today. With all that happened, she forgot and didn’t get them cancelled. So they drove all that heavy equipment over from Santa Rosa this morning and she has to supervise them. She was upset about having to go, but she didn’t have any choice.”
“I don’t suppose she said anything about meeting with me?”
“Actually, she said to tell you she was making reservations for the two of you to have dinner tonight. The Landing. Seven o’clock.”
His mood, and his stomach, instantly improved. “The Landing at seven. I’ll be there.”
“She took her black dress to the cleaners for a rush job. So you’d better dress up a little.”
“I will. Thanks for the heads up.” She was dressing up and she’d made dinner arrangements. He tried to act calm. “What are you working on?”
“My marketing brochure. Want some coffee?” She motioned to the coffee maker. “There’s some made. And banana bread. Help yourself. Later, when I’m making money here, I’m going to get one of those fancy cappuccino makers, but the good ones are frightfully expensive, so for now, you’re stuck with this plain stuff.”
“I’m perfectly happy with the plain stuff.” In a better mood than made any sense in the midst of a murder investigation in which his wife was perhaps a suspect, he poured himself a cup of coffee, spilling a little in his nervousness. “So, did she say anything else about me? Other than about dinner?” He wiped up the spill with a paper towel he pulled from a dispenser on the counter.
“She hung around here making excuses as long as she could, waiting for you to wake up. She tried to pump me about what we talked about. I said the business and the kids. So if she asks you, make sure our stories match.”
“I will.”
“And don’t forget what I said. I will totally kill you if you hurt her again.”
“I know. Thank you.”
“Great. I’ve got to get to work while the kids are in school. I’ll be upstairs. See you later?”
He nodded and poured himself more coffee. Remembering his ignorance about the kind of car Anne drove, Reid decided to embark on a mission to learn more about the woman he’d married. First, he’d try to absorb as much of Anne from her environment as possible. He walked out to the parlor, studied it carefully. Actually, this was probably more Jeanne’s environment since she was the one re-doing the house. But in the bookcase he caught sight of an album with a familiar binding. Their wedding album. At least she hadn’t thrown it away.
He took the album off the shelf and paged through it. The album progressed from photographs of their wedding in Virginia, with just the two of them, to the wedding party they had here at the Mermaids, and then to the elaborate reception at his family’s home in Scotland. Their romance had been intoxicating, but their marriage had been sobering.
The superintendent position that he had been offered upon returning from their honeymoon was something he’d been aiming at throughout his career. He could not turn it down.
His mistake, he’d thought at the time, was in letting her leave after their honeymoon to go back to the States and go through with the job interview with the firm where she wanted to work in San Francisco. Reid had been so besotted by her and so busy preparing to start his new position, that he just kissed her and saw her to her plane, expecting her back in Glasgow in a couple of weeks. He’d been sure she would see the impracticality of taking a job in the States and would come back ready to help choose a home in Glasgow where they could live and raise a family, and to find something she would like to do closer to home. God knew Scotland had gardens aplenty. When she returned with the news that she had taken the job in San Francisco, he couldn’t believe it.
They’d spent the week after she returned alternately arguing and making love. Each trying to convince the other, both failing miserably. At the end of the week, she left. He refused to see her off. Thus began their year of on-and-off rapprochements, followed by the last year of almost absolute estrangement.
He wanted her back. A life without her was just too empty for him, and he didn’t want anyone else. He closed the album and put it back on the shelf.
Right now he needed to get on his way and see what he could do to get this case resolved so Anne was free to get on with her life.
Slay the dragons and win the fair maiden.
Chapter 34
THREE NEWS VANS squatted like ugly white toads sporting gray satellite caps in front of the small police station. Reid parked on the street, then strode quickly through the rain into the station, ignoring the flash from cameras pushed toward him by raincoated figures. He grimaced inwardly while keeping his face neutral. Great, that was all he needed today. He felt at home with the Scottish press, but this lot were strangers to him, and him to them, apparently, if they thought he was anyone of importance in the case. Doubtless they were taking snaps of everyone who went into the building just in case.
Safely inside, he approached the reception desk where the woman he’d been introduced to the day before as Rose was talking on the telephone. She’d evidently gotten a haircut yesterday since her steel gray hair was cropped even closer than it had been the day before, her bangs now no more than a toothbrush’s length along the top of her face. Seeing him, she covered the telephone mouthpiece and jabbed her finger toward a closed door behind her. “The chief and Special Agent Shelton are in that conference room. Just go on in. They’re expecting you.”
Reid nodded and went in. The conference room had been turned into an incident room for the Grainger child’s murder. A giant poster board with a photograph of the child, as well as photographs of other people close to the situation was set up on one side of the room. Between some of the photographs were connecting lines and along one side a block lettered timeline outlined the pertinent events related to the investigation. At the far end of the long table, Jack Shelton and Dougal McLendon sat huddled together talking. Each had a pad of paper on which they were taking notes. He could tell from their faces that something had happened.
“What’s going on?”
Shelton stood and though he took pains to make his voice even, excitement almost burbled out of him. “You can’t be involved in the investigation anymore, Reid.”
Reid kept his face neutral, but this change of position was not entirely unexpected. He suspected what it meant, but not exactly what had prompted it. Either Anne or Andrew Grainger, or both of them, had become serious suspects. “What’s happened?”
“We got a preliminary report from the coroner.” Shelton’s voice rippled with undercurrents of exhilaration.
“And?”
“Cause of death looks to be drowning.”
But Reid knew that wasn’t what was causing the FBI agent’s almost tangible exhilaration.
“There’s something else, isn’t there?”
Indecision hovered in Shelton’s face.
“Jack?”
“You’re not involved in the investigation anymore.”
“Is it something that will get out soon anyway? Not much harm in telling me if it is.”
Shelton considered, then said, “Lenore Grainger was sexually molested.”
Reid shook his head. “Damn. Poor child.” But Shelton’s I’ve-got-a-bloody-big-secret air didn’t seem to deflate. This couldn’t be it; any time a child was abducted sexual molestation was likely to have occurred. There had to be something else.
When Shelton didn’t say anything else, Reid gave him a look. “And?”
Shelton eyed him, obviously appraising whether to spill the rest of it.
“Come on, Jack. I won’t say anything.”
Shelton nodded. “You’d better not.”
“I won’t. What is it?”
“It didn’t just happen after she was taken. The coroner says there was considerable scarring—the girl had been being sexually molested on a regular basis—long before she disappeared.”
Chapter 35
REID WAS TAKEN off guard. “You’re sure?” He’d more than half-expected the child would have been molested in the course of the crime, but beforehand?
Shelton nodded. “Just found out earlier this morning. We’re keeping that under wraps until later today. I’m only telling you so you know why I can’t let you be involved anymore. I’m trusting you not to tell anyone. Not Anne, not Grainger, not anyone.”
Reid didn’t blame Shelton for the admonition. “Understood. I assume you are now presuming that the same person who molested her also killed her.”
“Right.” Shelton took a drink of his coffee.
Reid said, “And that it was probably a man. And most likely not a stranger. Someone who knew the girl, most likely someone close to her. Generally, that would mean a family member.”
Shelton nodded.
“So obviously, Andrew Grainger is the prime suspect.”
“Right.”
“Was there any semen in the child’s body or on her clothes?”
“Not involved means not involved, Reid.”
“It’s going to come out sooner or later.”
“It better not come out of your mouth.”
“It won’t.”
“It looks like either the murderer used a prophylactic or the body was washed clean of any traces by the water. The nightgown as well.”
Reid asked, “What about touch DNA on the bedclothes—the sheets or blankets?”
“We sent that off for testing when she first disappeared. Nothing yet, but we’re rushing it through.”
“Any thoughts as to whether there was more than one kidnapper?”
“If there was a kidnapper, you mean.”
“Right.”
“The note refers to kidnappers in the plural, but that could be an attempt to mislead the father or us into thinking we were dealing with more than one person,” Shelton said. “Nothing else in the facts necessitates more than one person being involved as far as I can see.”
Reid said, “You’ll be interviewing everyone again now that it’s a murder, I assume.”
“Yes.”
Reid said, “The ransom amount still bothers me. Why ask for only ten million dollars if you knew Grainger has so much more than that? Asking for such a low number, relatively speaking, only makes sense if this wasn’t really a kidnapping. If that was the case, it didn’t matter what the asking number was.”
He saw from Shelton’s reaction that what he’d said resonated with the agent, and even more importantly, for his purposes, it went a long way toward securing his tenuous position in the investigation for now, despite his possible conflict of interest with regard to Anne.
Shelton nodded. “My people are going to continue to go through Grainger’s telephone and computer records. Maybe we’ll find something there.”
“Are you going to ask Grainger if he’ll take a polygraph test? Standard in these kinds of situations, I’d think.” Reid wanted to make sure Anne wasn’t in danger from the artist.
Shelton said, “We’re making that request today. We’ll see how he takes it. Sometimes the reaction to being asked to take a polygraph test says more than the actual test itself.”
Reid remembered the recording and Anne’s response during her interview with Shelton to his request that she take a polygraph test. He didn’t blame her for not agreeing right away. The guy had been a shite to her.
There was a knock on the door. A young officer poked his head in and looked at the chief. McLendon nodded to the young officer.
McLendon stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with my officers. After that, I’ll be in my office if you need me, Shelton.”
When they were alone, Shelton pulled the morning’s newspaper from the pile of papers next to him, and unfolded it to show the front page. “Did you see this yet?”
Reid shook his head.
Shelton handed it to Reid. “You might want to read it, Lord Reid. At least they spelled your name right.”
Chapter 36
REID SKIMMED the newspaper. The article included a school photograph of Lenore and a photograph of a painting of Marisol Grainger, and noted that the sale of the Marisol Series by the child’s father had fetched millions in a recent art auction. The story recounted the kidnapping and the discovery of the body by Anne and showed the photograph of her with Andrew from the magazine, identifying her as Andrew Grainger’s mistress who’d slept over the night of the kidnapping. The reporter seemed to take delight in noting that she was married to, but separated from, Lord Reid, the eldest son of a Scottish earl, and himself the Viscount of Brynhaven and heir to a whiskey fortune.
A small photograph of Reid and Anne at their wedding reception in Scotland fit neatly into one corner of the story. His heart clenched at the sight of her innocent, optimistic face and his own triumphant one. Briefly, Grainger’s voice came to him. I’ve asked her to marry me. She hasn’t accepted yet, but I’m hopeful.
He shrugged and made sure his face showed nothing. If Shelton thought he was going to get a reaction out of him with this shite in the newspaper, he obviously had no experience with the stone wall that a Scotsman was able to put up when needed.
Shelton studied him. “I didn’t know you had a title.”
“It’s nothing. A courtesy title until I inherit my father’s. More of a hindrance than a help. That and being police, with the Scottish antagonism to authority, is a double whammy in my line of work. I try to keep it in the background.”
“The press is going to be crawling all over this story. If I were you, I’d expect more of the same.”
“Means nothing.” Reid feigned indifference, hoping Shelton couldn’t see how shaken he was. Any chance of repairing his marriage in relative privacy was gone. Reid made a mental note to call and warn his family about the publicity, even as he pushed the paper away. He also needed to warn his superior officers about the story. He was aware there was covert speculation about the state of his marriage, but until now, he’d been able to avoid talking about it. He just never mentioned his wife, and only rarely was anyone brave enough to broach the subject. No one had ever done it twice.
“You’re taking it better than I would. I’d be on my way out of town.”
Reid said nothing. Could he just abandon Anne to handle this on her own? Part of him was tempted to let her take care of her own mess.
“I’ve been kicked to the curb?”
“No choice, Reid, sorry.”
“I understand. I may stay around for a while, though. So if you change your mind…”
Shelton’s mouth fell open. “Why would you help them?”
“Not them. Anne.”
“You’re fucking crazy.” Shelton shook his head in disbelief.
Reid rose to leave. “I’ll be having a drink at the Ship’s Tavern about five. If you find yourself in the area, feel free to stop by.”
Rose stuck her gray head into the conference room, pointed to the telephone on the table. “Agent Shelton, the coroner is on line three for you.”
Reid sat back down and Shelton picked up the call, not seeming to take any notice that he’d not taken his dismissal too seriously.
“Shelton here.” The FBI agent listened to whatever was being said, his eyes narrowing. He caught Reid’s eye and mouthed the words, “Get McLendon.”
Reid stepped out of the office and beckoned to the police chief who was standing in the reception area talking to one of his officers.
Shelton hung up the phone as Reid returned with McLendon. “That was the coroner calling with the preliminary DNA results he promised us.” He looked over at the police chief. “Was Lenor
e adopted? No one’s mentioned it to me.”
“Adopted?” The chief shook his head. “No. I remember when she was born. Marisol had Lenore in Santa Rosa and died right afterwards—she never left the hospital.”
Shelton retorted, “Then something doesn’t add up. Marisol might have been Lenore’s mother, but Andrew Grainger wasn’t her father. Not her biological father anyway. The DNA doesn’t match up.”
Chapter 37
“ARTIFICIAL INSEMINATION from a sperm donor?” Reid threw out the first possibility that came to his mind. Shelton still hadn’t asked him to leave.
“We’d better find out.”
Chief McLendon said, “I guess we need to talk to Andrew. Maybe he can explain.”
Reid knew that suggestion wasn’t going to fly with Shelton. Grainger had to be Shelton’s chief suspect right now, and there was no way Shelton was going to go into the next interview without making sure he had more information.
“Not yet.” Shelton’s voice was sharp. “How about calling the doctor? Was Kempton Marisol’s doctor? Did he deliver Lenore?”
The chief looked thoughtful. “He was Marisol’s doctor, but if I remember correctly, he didn’t deliver Lenore. He was out of town or something. The baby came early, I think. But he’d know if they’d had artificial insemination.”
“Why don’t we talk to the doctor before we talk to Grainger?” Shelton suggested.
“Okay.” He called out, “Rose, can you get me Dr. Kempton’s office number?”
Shaking her head in apparent exasperation, Rose marched into the conference room and handed the chief a card file. “It’s right there under the K’s—his home number, too. I’ll bring some coffee.”
McLendon found the right card and punched out the number on the telephone. “Dr. Kempton, please. It’s Chief McLendon.”
Rose returned, balancing three cups of coffee, and handed them around. While he waited, the chief took a swallow of coffee, then put his mug down and spoke into the telephone.
“Doc, Chief McLendon here.” He listened. “Yes, I know. Actually, I’m calling because I had a quick question I needed to ask you. We just got back some test results that we have some questions about. You were Marisol’s doctor during her pregnancy with Lenore, right?” The chief listened to the response.