He hugged her and his shearling coat, and realized he was getting a bit cold himself.
Savich came up, lightly placed his hand on her shoulder. “You’re coming home with me, Lucy.”
She turned to smile at her boss. “No, I want to stay here. I’ll be fine; don’t worry about me. I’ll admit I was pretty freaked out—”
Detective Horne said from behind her, “I know, I know, you’re FBI, you’re tough, and you’re nearly back to chewing nails again, right?”
Lucy was wrung out, but she managed a small smile. “Thank you for letting me stay in the loop, Detective.”
Detective Horne hadn’t intended she be anywhere near the loop, but since she was in Savich’s unit, and his lieutenant really admired Savich, he said easily, “Not a problem.”
Coop said to her, “This is why you moved back here after your father’s funeral, isn’t it, Lucy? And why you were so mysterious about it? You wanted to find your grandfather?”
“No, it never occurred to me I’d find him. I was looking for something, anything, that would tell me why my grandmother murdered him in the first place.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe she stuffed him in a trunk in the attic.”
Detective Horne blinked at that. “Your grandmother?”
“Yes, my grandmother.”
“But how do you know your grandmother murdered her husband?”
Lucy pulled away from Coop to stand facing the three men, clutching that big, soft coat to her like it was her security blanket. “I’m not cold, but I’ll bet Coop is. Let’s go back inside.”
When she was seated in a big green wing chair in the staid and formal living room, she drew in a deep breath. “My father had a heart attack. He was in and out of consciousness. Sometimes he recognized me, sometimes he simply looked at me and went under again.
“In the final moments before he died, he opened his eyes and yelled—it was terrifying because his voice was so frantic, panicked. He said very clearly, ‘Mom, what did you do? Why did you stab Dad? Oh my God, he’s not moving. There’s so much blood. Why, Mom?’ She lowered her head. “I won’t ever forget that for the rest of my life.”
Coop wouldn’t, either, he thought. What a load to carry—first for the father and now for the daughter. He studied her face. Smudges of dirt were stark against her pale cheeks. Hair was coming out of her French braid, tangling around her neck, but her hands were smoothed out and quiet on her lap. He knew she was calm again. He realized he admired her very much in that moment.
She looked at each of them in turn. “I knew I had to find out what happened.”
Savich said, “So, this past week you’ve been looking for clues?”
“Yes. I’d already gone through my grandmother’s study, all her desk drawers, some of her many books, but I didn’t find anything, so I decided to try the attic. The door was locked—it always was, and now, of course, I know why—and it was easy to break open.”
Savich said, “Lucy, what did your dad say when he told you to stay out of the attic?”
She looked blank. “Do you know, I don’t remember. I just know I never wanted to disobey him and go up there.” She paused for a moment, then said, “It was neat and organized, and as you saw, the boxes are all clearly marked; the old discarded clothes hung in plastic bags on wooden rods. The luggage was in neat stacks, too, at least before I went to work on it.”
Detective Horne pulled out a small black book. “Let’s back up a minute. You had no idea your grandfather was murdered until just before your father died? When was that?”
“My father died a little more than a week ago, Detective, and no, I didn’t have a clue.”
“Had you missed your grandfather? What happened?”
“I was nearly six years old when I was told my grandfather had simply left his family without a word. That was twenty-two years ago. My father and I already lived here then; we’d moved in with my grandparents after my mom died.”
Detective Horne studied her face, his pen poised over his notebook. “So your father saw your grandmother murder her husband?”
“Yes. If he didn’t see the murder itself, he walked in moments after she’d done it.”
Detective Horne had heard so many outrageous stories happily recounted by veteran cops over beers, but he’d never heard a story like this. He said, “He never said a word about it to you, ever?”
“No.”
“Do you think your father ever told anyone? A really close friend, or a relative he trusted?”
“My grandmother’s youngest brother, Uncle Alan, has never let on that anything like that happened, so I’d have to say no one knew, only my father and my grandmother. We can ask Uncle Alan. I have to tell him about all this now, anyway. I think it will be as much of a shock to him as to me, especially so soon after my dad died.”
Detective Horne said, “We’ll be speaking to him and his family. You said you moved in here to look for clues why this happened.”
Lucy gave him a twisted smile. “As I told you, Detective, I hadn’t found anything yet that would tell me why, but I will keep looking. Surely something will turn up that will give me some idea of why this happened.” She paused, looked down at her hands, now tightly clasped in her lap. She raised her head and looked at Coop, her face leached of color. “She covered him with an expensive white towel and deodorant cakes and closed the trunk lid on him.” She paused for a moment, then said, “Dillon, I think I remembered something when I was in the attic, when I was looking at the padlock on the trunk. I was small and I was scared, but I saw—”
Lucy lowered her head and cried.
She felt arms go around her, and turned to lean into them. She pressed her face against a warm, soft neck and breathed in a floral scent. It was Sherlock. How long had she been here?
Sherlock whispered against her hair, “It will be all right, Lucy. We’ll all figure this out. You’re not alone with this any longer.”
CHAPTER 26
Georgetown
Monday morning
Lucy was eating Cheerios along with Sean, both of their bowls heaped high with cereal and sliced bananas. She was hungry, and that surprised her a bit. She’d also slept pretty well the night before in Sherlock and Savich’s very nice guest bedroom just down the hall from Sean’s room. She’d heard him talking in his sleep a couple of times during the night, since she’d left her door open, something about King Neffer not playing fair. She was very grateful to them for bringing her home with them last night.
Savich said, “We need to leave soon for Quantico, Lucy, to see Dr. Hicks.”
“I called Coop, asked him to meet us at Quantico. I’d really like him there, too, Dillon. Oh, dear, I forgot to call Uncle Alan. I’ll be ready in—” Her cell phone rang. “Excuse me. Oh, it’s Uncle Alan. Hello. I was going to call you.”
Savich listened as he helped Sean wash his hands, and so did Sherlock as she put clean dishes back into the cabinets. Neither missed the devastation in the rise and fall of Alan Silverman’s voice. Lucy’s face was white and set.
Several minutes later, Lucy clicked off her cell. She patted Sean’s clean hand as she said, “Uncle Alan said Detective Horne came by earlier, told them what had happened. He is understandably shocked and disbelieving. I suppose I would be, too, if I hadn’t—well, he and Aunt Jennifer are very worried about me, want me to stay with them. I told them no, I can’t. Then Uncle Alan told me he didn’t think we should have a memorial, that if we did, everything would come out and my grandmother’s name would become infamous. He wants to bury grandfather’s remains privately. I suppose I agree. What good would it do to give the tabloids this kind of sick story?”
CHAPTER 27
An hour later, Coop, Savich, and Lucy walked into Dr. Emanuel Hicks’s office in the Jefferson Dormitory at Quantico.
Dr. Emanuel Hicks, one of the FBI’s top psychiatrists, was skinny as a knife blade, a problem for him only because he was known for impersonating Elvis, and a skinny Elvis was hard to pull
off. He took Lucy’s hand, looked her in the eyes, and said, “Lucy, I know it took courage for you to agree to come to see me, to let me help you try to go back and remember what you were so frightened of in that attic. I agree with Savich that something might have triggered actual fears from your childhood, memories that have been buried deep in your mind. Now, you were five years old?”
“Almost six. Dr. Hicks, I’ve been thinking about it, and now I simply can’t imagine forgetting anything that important. I’m thinking those feelings weren’t real.”
Dr. Hicks said easily, “People do find that hard to believe; they want to dismiss feelings that suddenly surface, but I’ve seen it. Lucy, even before you opened that lid, you must have known, deep down, that something terrible was in that trunk. Do you prefer to think you simply manufactured the little girl—namely, yourself—to help you deal with what you were feeling, to explain your own fears?”
Lucy leaned toward him, hope in her voice. “Doesn’t that make sense?”
No, not at all. Dr. Hicks said, patting her hand, “That’s what we’re here to find out, all right? Are you sure you want to go back, Lucy?”
“No, I’d rather not be frightened like that again, but I know it may be the only way to find out what really happened. So, I’m ready when you are, Dr. Hicks. I’ve never been hypnotized before. What if I don’t go under?”
Dr. Hicks said, “I think you’ll go under like a dream, Lucy. You’re very intuitive. Isn’t that what you told me, Savich?” At Savich’s nod, he continued. “That always makes it easier.”
Savich said, “Perhaps more than intuitive.”
“Oh, no, surely not,” Lucy said.
Coop was standing very quietly by the single window. “I remember that time in Kansas City when you just sat back and said you’d bet your knickers the old guy next door was the killer we were looking for. You said it was by looking at him, something in his eyes. Of course, it turned out it was that old man. Yes, I’d say you’re more than intuitive, Lucy.”
Dr. Hicks said, “Would you like to tell us how you came to that conclusion, Lucy?”
“Let’s not go there, Dr. Hicks,” Lucy said. “It was a onetime deal, nothing more than that. You know as well as I do that Dillon is the psychic one in this room, a regular FBI legend. Now, I appreciate your all being nice to me and trying to get me calm, but I want to get on with it.”
Dr. Hicks looked down at her. “Perhaps you’ll be more ready to deal with it now. As to the other, perhaps you’re indeed more like Savich than you imagine.”
Savich said, “On the other hand, I’ve learned that when something’s bothering you, Lucy, it’s all right there, on your face, an open book. Right, Coop?”
“Yeah, when she tries to bluff at our poker games, everyone laughs at her.”
Dr. Hicks only smiled as he pulled an old gold watch on a golden chain out of his vest pocket. “This is my granddad’s watch, nothing more than that. There’s nothing to this, really. The most important thing is for you to relax, Lucy. Take some deep breaths, try to empty out all the stress, all the painful questions, from your mind. All you have to do is follow the watch with your eyes and listen to my voice. That’s right, deep breaths. Sit back, relax, and look at the watch, all right?”
Slowly, he swung the watch in front of her eyes while speaking to her quietly. In less than two minutes, Dr. Hicks nodded. “Savich, do you want to question her?”
Savich nodded, sat forward, and took Lucy’s limp right hand between his. “Lucy, do you remember you and your dad moving in with your grandparents?”
It wasn’t Lucy’s voice that spoke; it was a very small child’s—high, soft, whispery. “I remember my birthday party.”
“How old are you?’
“I’m two.”
“Tell me about your birthday party.”
She frowned. “There’s a clown with giant feet, and he’s making animals out of balloons, but I don’t like him; he’s big and scary.”
“Do you remember anything else about your birthday party?”
“I went to the bathroom to get away from the clown, and my daddy was in there, and he was crying. He cried a lot. I hated that clown. Grandmother made chocolate cake for me. I love chocolate cake. Daddy said my mama loved chocolate cake, too.”
“That’s good, Lucy. Now I want you to move forward in time. You’re five years old, nearly six. Are you going to have a sixth birthday party?”
She frowned again, but it wasn’t Lucy frowning, it was a little girl’s face scrunching up, no longer a toddler. She looked utterly lost and alone.
Savich squeezed her hand. “It’s all right, Lucy. What are you seeing?”
“I’m wondering why I can’t have a birthday party, and Daddy said it’s because grandfather’s gone. Gone where, to the store? He shook his head over and over, and I saw Grandmother and Daddy were really upset. I remember Uncle Alan was sitting at the kitchen table with his head down. He was real quiet, sitting there, and he said he didn’t understand why Milton could leave. Why? He never gave any sign he wasn’t happy. And why hadn’t he said anything? Why? And then he didn’t say anything else. Aunt Jennifer kept patting me. Everyone looked like they wanted to cry; they were always talking in whispers. And when I looked at them, they smiled—you know, fake smiles.”
“Did you ask them why they were smiling fake smiles?”
“Sort of. They told me it wasn’t anything at all, and I knew that wasn’t true. Grandfather didn’t come back from the store.”
“How long was your grandfather gone before your birthday?”
They watched her count off on her fingers. “Nearly a week, I think.”
“Okay, I want you to go back, Lucy, to nearly a week. Are you there? In the house?”
She nodded, a jerky sort of birdlike movement, like a child’s.
“What do you see?”
“I don’t see anything, but I hear Daddy yelling. He sounds really scared and mad at the same time. I’m scared now, but I don’t want him to see me because I’m not supposed to be there.”
“Where are you supposed to be?”
“At Marjorie’s house, next door, but something broke in a bathroom and there was water everywhere, and so I left. Marjorie’s mom didn’t know I left.”
“Where were your daddy and your grandmother when you heard them yelling?”
“Upstairs somewhere.”
“And you want to know what’s the matter, right? What do you do?”
She was shaking her head frantically, back and forth.
Dr. Hicks said, “It’s okay, Lucy. We’re right here to protect you. Nothing can hurt you. Do you believe me?”
Finally she nodded and expelled a shaky little girl’s breath. “I walk up the stairs and hide. I look down the hall and see my daddy going up the attic stairs.”
Savich said, “Do you see your grandmother?”
“No. She’s already up there.”
“Is your daddy carrying anything?”
“I don’t know. He’s crying. I think he’s crying about Mama again.”
“Do you go up the stairs to the attic?”
“No. I listen to them making noises, moving around in the attic, but I’m afraid to go up there, afraid they’ll see me.”
“Do you know what they’re doing in the attic?”
“I don’t see them, but they’re arguing, and Daddy’s crying again and yelling, and I’m afraid to move.”
“Could you make out what they’re saying to each other?”
“Grandmother keeps screaming about how she’s sorry, how he ruined everything.”
Lucy fell utterly silent, and her head fell to the side. Savich thought she’d come out of it and fallen asleep, but Dr. Hicks stayed his hand when he would have patted her shoulder. He shook his head to continue.
Savich said again, “Is your daddy saying anything to your grandmother you can understand?”
“My daddy’s voice is shaking. He’s yelling, and Grandmother’s crying.�
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“What does your grandmother say?”
“‘I didn’t mean to, Joshua’—Grandmother always calls Daddy Joshua even though Uncle Alan and Aunt Jennifer call him Josh.”
“Do you hear your grandmother say what she didn’t mean to do?”
“She just kept crying and saying over and over, ‘He ruined everything, Joshua. My ring! He threw it out, said no one would ever find it. I couldn’t bear it, I couldn’t.’”
“What happened next?”
“They went to Grandmother’s room, so I didn’t have a chance to sneak out. Then they came back and they were both carrying lots of clothes and shoes and stuff. They went back and forth, and when they were in the attic I ran down to the kitchen.”
“Did they ever know you were there, Lucy?”
“No. I went up later and saw my dad, and he was standing by his bedroom door, and he was crying. He saw me and called to me, and I ran to him, and he hugged me.”
“You never said anything to your dad? To your grandmother?”
“No. I knew they’d be mad. I didn’t want to get swatted.”
“Lucy, tell me about your grandmother.”
She looked confused. Savich realized she was only a kid and the question was far too complicated. “Do you love your grandmother?”
She nodded, another quick, jerky movement. “She makes me peanut-butter cookies; they’re my favorite. She lets me sit beside her while she’s reading. She’s always reading. But she always sits in the living room. I hate the living room; it’s like a dead room, and you can’t breathe.”
“Do you love your grandfather, Lucy?”
Her face lit up. “Grandfather likes me to sit on his leg, and he bounces up and down and says he’s my horse. He always smells like beef jerky. I really liked jerky until—”
“Until?”
“Until he went away to the store and never came back. He worked real hard, and so did Daddy. He made lots of money, my daddy said that. One day before he went away, he came home from work and he was mad. I remember he shouted at Grandma and he said bad words. Daddy took me away. He bought me an ice cream and told me to forget it and never say those words.”
The FBI Thrillers Collection: Vol 11-15 Page 144