“Right.” He shoved the camera and film back in the box. “Remember interest is accruing.”
She heard the bell of the door closing behind her as she left the shop. Claire was alive. And she was here. Or had been here—just over a week ago. She was involved in this debacle. And took the murderer’s camera to the pawnshop. How? Why?
Her mind was spinning but her stomach was churning. Only seven blocks down was Copa. The best quick margaritas and Mexican food in the area. She started to walk in the direction of the restaurant—seeking comfort in food and drink was always good. She stuffed the pawn ticket back into the slot in her wallet.
She scurried down the street, dialing Russell’s number. It went to voicemail. “Damn you, Russell, this is important. Call me back. Urgent-urgent.”
Russell heard the phone vibrate in his pocket but couldn’t answer it. He was seated in the interrogation room at the Prosecutor’s Office—this time on the other side of the table. “So, let’s go over this again, Russell. Detective Bowers. You chose not to file a missing-persons report on Ms. Saunders, though she’s been missing for weeks, until you intercepted this photograph?”
CHAPTER 63
Marie had splurged and ordered a salad, broiled shrimp, a cheese spread, and a magnum of champagne. She’d finished showering and wrapped herself in a large white robe. She desperately wanted a drink—something much stronger than champagne—but she was petrified to leave the room. If the stabbed man wasn’t dead, he might be waiting, and if he was dead, the police would certainly be circling like wild turkeys looking for prey. This cache could last her all day.
She had the food spread in front of her on the bed and was picking at the salad, the champagne half-finished, when there was a rap at her door. She jumped, pulled the robe around her, and backed against the wall, almost afraid to take a breath. The knock came again, louder. She tiptoed and peered through the peephole. One man stood there. She didn’t know him. His head was down; he had a thick shock of brown hair. Definitely not the man who’d met the end of her knife.
“Either you need to open the door or I’ll be waiting in the lobby for you when you eventually leave the room, Ms. Saunders. I know you’re in there.”
She looked through at him again. He looked like nobody. Not a criminal and not really a cop, but it was hard to tell these days. Maybe someone from the hotel? With a question about her reservation? He did say he would be in the lobby. But why wouldn’t they just call the room? She hesitated only a second before whipping the door open. He wasn’t from the hotel.
He escorted her back inside and shut the door. “I’m Detective Johnson from the Philadelphia Police Department. I have some questions for you, Ms. Saunders. Do you mind doing this here? Or would you rather get dressed and come downtown? Either one is fine, I didn’t mean to intrude.”
She sat down on the wing chair and crossed her legs. “Am I obligated to answer questions, Detective? Without an attorney? Have I done something wrong?”
He smiled and she felt awkward, sitting in nothing but a robe. She took a long swallow of champagne. “You don’t have to answer anything if you don’t want to. But it’s odd, because you don’t even know what I want to ask.”
She swung her legs a bit to the side. Her insides were on fire with nerves, and she was only hoping it didn’t show on her face. “I’ve been here for two days. Just left the convent after more than twenty years, and I needed to sort myself out.” She sipped at her champagne and poured more in her glass. “What is it that you wanted?” She knew it was about the man she’d stabbed. There’d be no other reason for the police to be here. She formulated a quick plan. If the questions got sticky, she’d just end it, tell them she’d meet them at the station, and then disappear.
He sat down across from her. “Your niece. Ava Saunders? When is the last time you saw her?”
Marie bit down on her lip so hard it drew blood. She wasn’t expecting this, and the nerves inside of her exploded. Her brain was clicking through the options. How much did they know? How could she answer and not trip over herself? “Several weeks, I’d say. I don’t live with her.”
He opened a notebook. “You lived at Christ the King.” She nodded. “And Ava was staying at her mother’s house in Haddonfield?” Marie nodded. “But you’ve been preparing the house for sale?”
She nodded again. “It was always the plan after my sister died, that the house would be put up for sale. So, yes.”
“And where was Ava going to live?”
She shrugged. “She’s finished college, has a job. I assume she’s either going to stay in the area and get an apartment or go to France. My mother is working on arrangements for her there.” Keep everything in present tense.
“And it hasn’t concerned you that she’s been gone for weeks? No word. No work. Not answering her phone?”
Marie shrugged. “She took some time off from work after her mother, my sister, died. It didn’t concern me that she wasn’t at work. And we weren’t so close that we spoke every day. I didn’t even know she wasn’t answering her phone.”
He looked down. “Yes. Claire Lavoisier-Saunders.” He looked up. “She died two months ago—”
“One month, two weeks, and four days, to be exact.”
“Yes. And she was Ava’s mother? Biological or adoptive?”
Marie stood up. “What exactly is this about, Detective? Ava missing? I don’t know where she is. She might’ve gone to France. Did you call my mother, Anais Lavoisier? Maybe she went to Canada to see friends? She went to school in Montreal.”
He stood. “We don’t believe she’s left the country.”
She shrugged. “Then I don’t believe I have any other suggestions. She’ll turn up. She always does.”
“Meaning she disappears often?”
She tried to smile but gritted her teeth instead. “Like a bird in flight. Here, there. Where will she land next?”
He shifted his weight but didn’t move to the door as she wanted. “You didn’t like her? Any particular reason?”
Marie edged away from him. “I didn’t not like her, Detective. She’s family, just always a little unsettled.”
He didn’t budge. “So you haven’t talked to her? No one called you to see if you’d seen her?”
Marie’s mind flitted to Russell, the day he came to the house. “As a matter of fact, her friend Russell, a detective, I think in Camden, came by the house when I was there sorting through things. He asked about her. I told him the same thing.”
“Was her car there? When he came by the house?”
Marie was startled. The car. She shrugged. “I don’t remember, honestly.”
“But he was asking for her? So if her car was there, you’d have known, I’m sure?”
Marie shrugged. “I might have, but I don’t remember.”
“At some point it was returned. The car.”
Marie leaned over and opened the door. “Then I guess you know more than I do. I don’t mean to cut this short, but I have things to do.”
“Just two more questions,” he said. She held the door and didn’t respond. “One, why has someone been calling Ava’s phone from Claire Saunders’s cell phone? It wasn’t disconnected after her death?”
“I guess it wasn’t. And two?”
“Do you have any idea who might’ve taken this picture?” He held out the photograph of Ava for Marie to see.
She let go of the door and stumbled back onto the bed. “Oh my God. She’s dead? Ava’s dead?” She held out her hand to see the picture.
“So let’s start this questioning all over again. I need to know what Ava was involved in before she disappeared, when you last saw her—the truth this time. And if you’ve had any occasion to visit the Pine Barrens recently.” Marie didn’t respond but leaned over and grabbed her glass, swallowing the rest of her drink. She was stuck. She couldn’t answer any of these questions. He knew too much. “Oh, and one more thing. Was your sister cremated? Or was her body interred?”
&nb
sp; She glared up at him. “My mother took her body to France for burial. And I think I’d like to end this now and contact my attorney. I’ll be in touch.”
“This isn’t actually a Philadelphia problem. It only came on our desk because you’re here. When Haddonfield PD went looking for you, a Sister Regina Collins at Christ the King said you might be here, in this hotel.”
Regina. Marie had told her she was coming to the Sofitel to rest. From now on she’d have to keep her plans to herself.
“So do me a favor and contact an attorney in New Jersey. And then stay there. They’d prefer you find a place in Camden County, actually. Your sister’s house? Or the convent, maybe?” He handed her a card. “That’s Detective Hughes from Camden that’s going to be overseeing the case. Have your lawyer call him in the next couple days. But don’t wait too long, or I’m sure they’ll put out a warrant.” He opened the door and was gone.
She heard it snap shut behind him, but her head was down. Her fate was either death at the hands of family or imprisonment for the murder of her niece. Which was worse? She rushed into the bathroom and threw up the contents of her meager lunch.
CHAPTER 64
Russell was lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling. He hadn’t moved in over an hour. He was looking at the way the light hit the plaster, making it seem like the paint was peeling. It wasn’t. He’d checked twice. Juliette came in and sat down at the end of the sofa, putting his feet in her lap.
“There’s nothing I can say to make this better, Russ. But it’s not as bad as it could have been. You know that, right?”
He didn’t move his eyes. “I could have gotten fired. I could have gotten Doug fired, so you’re right.”
She tapped his feet. “How’s Doug?”
He gave a half shrug. “As well as I’d expect. He doesn’t blame me, exactly.”
“Look. Let’s go out. Go to dinner. You pick, but I feel like Mexican. Mexican Food Factory? Margaritas.”
He felt sick to his stomach at the name of the restaurant where he’d gone with Ava just weeks ago. “Not hungry.”
She stood up. “Fine. Let’s have drinks here. I can make martinis. And I know we have beer—”
“Beer and food isn’t going to change the fact that I’ve been suspended for ninety days. I have a permanent letter in my file—obstructing justice, it says. But worse than that—Doug does too.”
“You knew this might happen when you turned this in. You got off kind of easy, I’d say.” She hesitated. “I do need to ask you why you did all this, Russell.”
“Which part?”
“What was it with you and this girl? Ava? Were you with her? Cheating? What?”
“Pile it on, Juliette. My plate isn’t full enough.” He couldn’t even look at her. He knew she was right. He’d almost thrown away everything, his career, Juliette, for this woman he knew nothing about.
“You obviously don’t need dinner or drinks with me, you’ve got this whole pity party going on alone. For the record, I think you were. And I think that’s a big part of what you’re feeling. Guilty. And this moment might not be the time to talk about it. But at some point, we have to.”
“Wrong. Wrong and wrong. I feel guilty about Doug. I feel guilty about Joanne. And I feel terrible that Ava was killed and that she knew she would be . . .”
Juliette stopped. “What do you mean she knew she would be?”
He rubbed his face. “She told me she knew she was going to die.”
Juliette sat down again, her head tilted to the side. “She thought someone was after her?”
He shrugged. “Not sure. She didn’t seem scared. More like it was an inevitability, like time was running out. But she was drunk.”
“Okay, wait. Stop. Tell me everything from the beginning.”
He closed his eyes and tried to remember everything she said. Juliette was quiet, taking it all in.
“So she handpicked you to go running after the mystery, like a dog?” Her voice had risen. “And you did?”
“I guess I did. It had everything. Old serial murders. Photographs. An abandoned child. A dead woman—”
“You mean Claire? Or Ava?”
He sat up. “Both, really. Or neither. I could use those drinks now.”
Juliette got up. “I’ll grab some beers. This is interesting. There’s an answer in all of this that we’re missing. We need to go over it again.” She disappeared into the kitchen.
Russell smiled. He should have clued Juliette in a long time ago. Her mind was a razor’s edge.
A few minutes later she came out with two bottles and an opener. She popped the caps off and handed one to him. “So again, what did she want you for? To legitimately look into things for her or to uncover information she already knew? To lead you where she wanted you to go?”
Russell was thinking. “Maybe both? She seemed to be looking for something.”
“What? What was she looking for, Russell? Think.”
He put his head down so far it was almost in his lap. “To know why Claire had the Owens picture.”
“Did she ever wonder if they were her parents?”
He stopped to think, all the conversations playing through his mind. “I wanted to get DNA but couldn’t. Because it wasn’t official. But I don’t remember her pushing it. Or really asking.”
“So that wasn’t a question for her. Because she probably knew they weren’t. So what was she asking about?”
He sat upright. “Jack Quinn had been stalking her—broke into her house. Took the picture. She was concerned about that.”
“What else?”
“When I told her she wasn’t abandoned in the church as a baby, she told me to find out who she really was.”
They looked at each other. “In the very center of this is the woman that died with the priest. The big unknown. Is that it? Maybe?” Juliette offered. “I’m just throwing things out here.”
“We need to find out who she was. Her name. And maybe that’s what Ava wanted from me from the very beginning. To find her name. And to flush out Quinn?”
“Because the woman was her mother? With no name. Murdered and left naked?”
His cell phone rang. He put the phone to his ear and heard Joanne’s loud voice at the other end. “I will give you two guesses as to what was pawned. And who pawned it,” she said. “Never mind guesses. It’s the camera and Claire—I told you she was alive. I couldn’t get it, but I saw it.”
Russell looked at Juliette. “Can you get to my house now? I turned the case in to the Prosecutor’s Office this afternoon.”
“No you didn’t, Russell! Why, when we were so close?”
“Doug.”
He heard the sound of her car door opening. “I’m on my way. But you better have food and drinks waiting. I’m giving up Copa because of your nonsense. Doug’s an idiot.”
CHAPTER 65
By the time Marie found her car where she’d parked it, she was trembling, soaked through to her undergarments. Rain pounded the sidewalk and street, and the sweet leather coat she’d borrowed from Claire was destroyed. After the policeman had left her hotel room, she couldn’t eat another bite of the enormous spread. She wanted to sit and pick at the salad, order some more champagne, and think. But every second hung in the air, filled with fear of another invasion. Every noise made her jump. Her stomach was sick and she’d vomited several times before she could bring herself to get dressed.
Go back to New Jersey, he’d said. Get a lawyer. Check in with the Camden County Prosecutor’s Office before they came looking for her. She reached for her phone and dialed Claire’s number again. It went to voicemail. She held the phone in her hand. She was completely and utterly alone in the world for the first time ever.
“This is your fault. I’ve got the police crawling all over the death in the woods. I got a stabbed man who’s God knows where, who, by the way, you sent after me, that they’ll connect to me sooner or later”—she shook the phone, yelling at it, though no one was on the oth
er end—“and you started all of this. All of it!” She threw the phone into the seat next to her; it hit the door and bounced onto the floor. “I knew I shouldn’t trust you. You’re going to stick me with this, just like I thought. And everyone says I’m paranoid!”
After crossing the Ben Franklin Bridge into New Jersey, she was on autopilot and ended up in front of Claire’s house without thinking. The Victorian was dark. Ava’s silver Honda Accord was still in the driveway; a few stray pine needles still clung to the wiper blades. Get yourself together, Marie. Go in, dry off, relax. Call a lawyer in the morning. She took two deep breaths and fished the house keys out of her bag.
The rain had settled to a steady drizzle but she was already drenched, her dark hair plastered to her head; the water had soaked through her leather boots and oozed between her toes with every stride. She’d just stepped through the door and turned on the light when she saw the black-and-white car pull up in front of the house.
“Shit,” she muttered. “They told me I had a few days.” She dropped her purse onto the floor and waited. Her chest was heavy, she couldn’t handle more questioning now.
Two plainclothes officers headed toward her. One was tall with brown hair, and for a minute she thought it was Russell, but as he got closer she saw she was wrong. The other, shorter and darker, both in hair and skin, approached slowly. Though they saw her standing on the porch waiting for them, they were going to do this in their own time.
“Ms. Lavoisier-Saunders?” the shorter of the two said.
“It’s just Saunders, actually. The Philadelphia police said I had time for this interview. I need to contact my lawyer. So . . .”
They looked at each other and then back at her. “Is that your car?” They pointed to the silver Honda.
She took a step back toward the door. “How could you know I was coming here, anyway? I didn’t even know. Like I said, I’d like to contact my lawyer. Can I come in tomorrow? Just tell me where to go.”
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