by Cat Connor
“You’re not wrong. At least we now have a connection between the Sutherlands and Bleich.”
“It’s tenuous at best.”
“Yes, but it’s something.”
A light went on in my mind.
I walked back to the confused couple. “Do you have a lawyer?”
The wife looked terrified. Mr. Sutherland nodded. “Do I need one now?”
“No, sir, just wondered who it was.”
“We use Campbell, Blackcock, and Bleich.”
“Is that Marika Bleich?”
He nodded again. “Do you know her?”
I shook my head. “She’s the wife of the jeweler who owns the Heathcote diamonds.”
I glanced at Kurt. He’d taken a sneaky photograph with his phone, of Quinn Sutherland.
Sutherland looked a little disturbed. I decided to push some more questions at him.
“Can you tell me where you were at eight this morning?”
Mrs. Sutherland answered. “He was on his way to work.”
“Mr. Sutherland, where were you?”
“On my way to work.”
“You didn’t stop off anywhere?”
“No.”
“You’re quite sure?”
“Yes. What is this about?”
“I’m just trying to get my timeline in order.”
“Is there anything else?”
“Not right now. Police will have a car outside your house until we tell them otherwise. I advise you to be vigilant.” I handed them a business card each. “You can reach me on any of those numbers.”
“Thank you, Agent,” Mr. Sutherland said pushing the card into his wallet.
Kurt and I spoke with police and then left.
“This is messy,” I muttered climbing into the car. It was getting late. “Can you drop me home, please?”
“Sure, you okay?”
I caught his sidelong glance.
“I’m okay. But it’s close to dinnertime and something’s up with Carla. I’m going to take a few hours.”
“Spend the night at home. No sense rushing back to work. Until we locate the other son, nothing much is going to happen.”
“I would like to find the Unsub.”
“How do you know we haven’t already?”
I smiled. “It’s not Sutherland. That much I know.”
“I’ll pick you up in the morning. Your car is still at work.”
“Thanks,” I said as Kurt pulled up outside my home. I walked up to the gates and entered the five-digit pin. The smaller pedestrian gate clicked. I pushed it open then clicked it shut. Kurt waved then left. He was out of sight by the time I made it up the driveway to the front door. At least it wasn’t raining now.
I heard footsteps and waited for Carla to open the door. It’s a thing. She liked to greet me at the door. And it felt right.
The door swung open and Carla smiled at me. It wasn’t her usual beaming grin, just a smile. Something was different.
“You came home.”
“Is that a good thing?” I said kissing her cheek and slinging an arm around her shoulders.
“Yes,” she replied, hugging me. “I didn’t think you would.” Her voice trailed off.
Fifteen
If I Was Your Mother
The smell of roast beef wafted down the hallway and twirled around me. My stomach grumbled like an aggravated black bear.
Carla asked, “Didn’t eat lunch?”
“Not today. We were busy,” I replied, linking my arm with hers. We walked down the long spacious hallway to the kitchen. “Hey, Dad.”
Dad looked over and smiled. He was making gravy. The beef sat on the carving rack waiting.
“How was your day?” dad asked.
“Busy,” I replied, tearing a small piece off the top edge of the roast and popping it into my mouth. I savored the deliciousness. The meat melted in my mouth. “Oh, that is good.”
“You’ve got twenty minutes, if you’d like to go clean up.”
I looked down, giving my clothes a quick once over. “Think I might.”
Carla looked at my shirt sleeve and pointed to a dark brown stain. Guess I dragged my sleeve in blood at some stage during the day. Such is my life.
“What’s that?”
“Not mine. Never mind. I’ll be back in ten.”
As I hurried away toward the stairs I heard Joey call out from the family room. “Hey, Ms. Conway.”
He sounded like his usual self. Considering I was detecting something strange with Carla, that was a relief.
“I’ll be back soon, Joey.”
I remembered Carla wanted to talk to me about something and I had a feeling it was to do with Joey.
I hustled back to the kitchen and poked my head in. Carla was filling two drink bottles with juice. “Carla, come with me, you can choose my shirt.”
She screwed the tops on the bottles. “I’ll give Joey his drink,” she said. There was a moment of hesitation when she reached the family room. She handed both drinks to Joey as we walked away I caught a look between her and Joey. It disturbed me. It was almost as if he shot her a warning glance.
Something was going on with them.
“You don’t want your drink?” I asked as we climbed the stairs.
She shrugged. “I’ll have it later.”
In my room I opened the closet and set Carla the task of finding clothes for me, while I went into the bathroom and turned on the shower.
“How you doing out there?”
“This is a nice shirt,” she replied, holding out a long-sleeved, pale blue button-down shirt. It wasn’t black, or dark grey, or dark blue. The thin white stripes and haphazard lace down half the front panel made it feel summery.
I smiled. “Great. Thanks.” I took the shirt and hung it in the bathroom. Carla passed me clean jeans. I picked out my underwear. She plopped herself on my bed and fiddled with the edge of the comforter.
“Mom?”
“Yes,” I replied as I brushed the knots out of my hair. My stomach twisted, knowing she needed to tell me something.
A movement in the bedroom mirror caught my attention. I turned as my bedside lamp rocked violently then fell to the floor. Carla yelped.
Nothing else moved.
“You all right?”
Carla nodded. “Why’d it fall?”
“Not sure. That was weird,” I said as I crossed the floor, lifted up the lamp and inspected it for damage. “It’s not broken.” I set the lamp back where it belonged.
“What made it do that?” Carla asked. Her eyes darted around the room.
“Maybe the bed knocked into the nightstand when you sat down,” I offered. I was starting think there was some kind of poltergeist activity happening. Seemed best to ignore it and move on. “Did you want to ask me something?”
Her head shook a little. “It’s nothing. I just wondered if you had a good day.”
“Busy day, sweetheart. It got a bit crazy in the end there.” Despite wanting to give her a good shake until words fell out of her mouth I kept calm. “How was your day?”
“It was all right …”
No, it wasn’t.
I took a breath.
“You do know I was a teenager once, huh? Whatever it is that’s bugging you, I will try to understand.”
A smile flashed across her eyes then disappeared and was replaced by a look of determination. She wasn’t going to talk.
“It was an okay day. I’m glad you’re home.”
“All right. If you change your mind …”
“I know … you’re right here.” She muttered something under her breath that sounded like, “For now.”
“I am here,” I reiterated and resisted adding something about how she should make the most of it instead of wasting this time being surly and petulant.
I left her sitting on my bed and showered. Glimpses of my teenage years challenged and worried me. Surviving a mentally-defective mother by being an overachiever worked for me. My experi
ences overlaid on Carla’s. A serial killer didn’t kill my mother when I was thirteen. I wasn’t sitting beside someone when they were shot to death that same night. I was never in foster care, nor was I adopted by a Fed whose husband died protecting me.
Carla fitted the profile of an at-risk teen. No matter how much I loved her and how many therapy sessions she attended, she was still at risk. More from herself than external influences.
What was with her and Joey?
Carla was gone when I finished cleaning up and dressing. I saw her in the family room with Joey as I headed for the dining room. They were watching television.
Twenty-five minutes after I first walked in the front door, we were enjoying the meal my father cooked. The dinner table conversation wasn’t the usual family fare. Both kids appeared to struggle with the basics of conversation. There were far too many sidelong glances between them for my liking. Joey made a late attempt to join in. I watched without being too obvious. My mind threw up scenarios at an alarming rate. None was good. A horrible feeling that there was something up with the kids started as a seed and swelled. Something one of them was planning to do and the other didn’t like it, or maybe the other was going to join in but wasn’t as convinced. Of course it may not be like that at all. They may both be willing. The seed burst and a small shoot shot out. If ever there was a time for music to help me out, that was it.
“You two are hitting that orange juice like it contains vodka,” I said, taking a sip of the glass of Shiraz in front of me. I let my eyes rest on Carla for a moment. “It doesn’t, does it?”
“No,” she snapped. “How stupid do you think I am?”
I smiled. “You’ve always been way smarter than you should be. I’m your mother, that’s one of the questions I am obliged to ask.”
I could feel my mother lurking in the shadows of my mind. Then she spoke and I almost choked on my drink. “She’s hiding something. Is she having sex with that dirty little boy?” I willed her to shut up but she wouldn’t. “Really, Gabrielle, are you sure she’s not gay or taking drugs?”
I silenced my mother by imagining Mac clamping his hand across her mouth. A silent prayer went out to the universe: please don’t let me sound like my mother.
“How was school?” I asked, hoping that was a safer subject.
“It was fine,” Carla said. “Wasn’t it, Joey?”
Joey grunted once in affirmation.
Then Robbie the robot lurched into view flapping his claws and yelling, “Danger, Danger, Will Robinson.” I bit my tongue before my mother’s words could pop out of my mouth and alienate my child forever.
Carla lifted the bottle and sucked back another big swig. “Want some?” Carla offered me the bottle.
“No thanks, OJ and Shiraz are not the best possible combination.”
She shrugged. “Thought you’d want to check it didn’t have alcohol in it.”
“Your word is all I need.”
Come on mind, give me a song, and tell me what’s going on here. It was not looking great.
When I did hear music, I wished it gone. Hearing Red Hot Chili Peppers’ ‘White Snow’ was far from comforting when faced with two teenagers who were doing their damnedest not to give something away. Was it drugs? Was that what was going on? The song stopped short of the end, and when I looked at Joey, I heard something that was worse. Bon Jovi’s Lonely at the Top.
My fork hit my plate. Joey jumped. Carla shrank down a little in her chair.
“Whoops,” I said retrieving the fork. I made eye contact with Dad. Hoping he would read my mind, hear the music, and offer an insightful nugget out of the blue.
Jon Bon Jovi’s voice scared me to my core. Could it be true that one or both of the kids at my table was thinking of suicide? As horrible as it was, all I could think was, don’t let it be mine. Both songs twirled making the world spin and my dinner turnover in my stomach.
Drugs and suicide.
I took a sip of the wine in front of me. Wiped my mouth on my napkin.
“Delicious meal as always, Dad,” I said taking another sip of the wine. “I’ll give you a hand cleaning up.”
“I won’t say no, kid,” Dad replied.
Carla and Joey were still pushing food around their plates.
“If you’re not going to eat it, take your plates to the kitchen,” I said.
They both glanced at me then back at their plates.
“I’m not hungry,” Carla said.
“Then you may be excused.”
She stood up and took her plate to the kitchen.
“Me neither, Ms. Conway,” Joey muttered.
“Go on, Joey,” I said.
He disappeared into the kitchen carrying his plate. They reappeared at the doorway.
“We’ve got homework,” Carla said. “We’ll be upstairs.”
“Okay, I’ve got some work to do later – I’ll be in my little office.” I had a big office downstairs past the kitchen at the back of the house. But to be closer to Carla I also built a small office between Carla’s bedroom and mine. “Keep your door open.”
Carla attempted a smile. They went down the hall and were gone from view by the time I stood and carried my plate to the kitchen. Movement startled me as I walked across the kitchen floor. One of the kids' plates slid across the countertop and crashed to the floor. The silverware clattered across the tiles.
“You okay?” Dad called.
“Yeah,” I replied. “Dropped a plate.”
I set my plate on the counter and proceeded to pick up the broken pieces from the floor.
Drugs and suicide echoed in my head.
Got evidence?
There was no evidence. Not a thing, beyond my daughter acting odd. Two teenagers behaving for all the world like two teenagers. A teenage boy who didn’t eat his dinner? Now that was unheard of and disturbing as hell. The two songs were repeating in my head, overlapping and mixing lyrics until I felt dizzy. And what’s with the lamp and the plate?
Dad joined me in the kitchen with the drink bottles from the table. I placed the broken plate, and mushed food on the counter and washed my hands.
“What’s going on?” he asked, placing his plate and the almost empty bottles on the counter top.
“I don’t know, but I think the kids are going to do something stupid.” I reached for one of the drink bottles and opened the lid. I sniffed it. There was no alcohol in it. I screwed the top back down.
I leaned against the counter and attempted to steady the surging beef within.
“Ellie?”
“How have they been today?”
Dad leaned against the counter next to me. “Carla was quieter than usual, Joey is up and down – but Joey is up and down.”
I exhaled and thought for a minute, while willing Bon Jovi to shut up.
“They been secretive at all? Jumpy when you enter the room?”
Dad shook his head then changed his mind. “Maybe they have, a little more than usual. You think they’re having sex?”
Well, crap, I never thought of that. “Why, what do you know?”
“Just seen them holding hands a few times, is all.”
Holding hands. “I don’t think this is about making out.”
Dad looked at me. “Drugs?”
“Maybe.”
Mac’s voice resounded in the crawl space within my head, “Maybe’s ass!”
Hearing him wasn’t as comforting as it used to be. For the first time ever I opted to ignore his comment. I think I’d have seen signs of drug use if this were about drugs. I searched my memory for anything that would indicate they were into drugs and came up empty.
Sex? That was a fast way to ruin a beautiful friendship.
“That could be it, Ellie. How do you want to handle this?”
“I’ll talk to Carla and Joey, soon.” I smiled and looked around. The kitchen was spotless. We’d done all the dishes. I sat up on the counter and remembered the times as a teenager when I used to help dad clean the kitchen
and use the moment while he was busy to ask him things that I couldn’t otherwise. Carla availed herself of kitchen talks in the past too, often while I was fixing dinner or breakfast. “Maybe I’ll bake some cookies tonight, and she can help me.”
“Good idea. I’ll take Joey home when you give me the word.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
My phone rang. It was Lee.
“I need to take this, Dad,” I said, jumping off the counter with the phone in my hand and walked down the hall. “Lee?”
“How was dinner?”
“Excellent as always,” I replied. “What’s up?”
“There is a woman called Maria Doyle …”
Modern West started up. ‘Maria Nay’ was back with vengeance.
“And?” I tried to silence Kevin but he wasn’t playing nice.
“She was the one who added the Sutherland woman’s name to the guest list of that autism fundraiser, late. She works for the company hired to manage the event.”
“Have you spoken to her?”
“No, Sam and I took a ride over to her apartment, no one was home. I left my card in the door, with a note on the back asking her to call me about the autism event.”
“Good thinking. What do we know about the company she works for and her employment history?”
“Company has been around over twenty years, she has worked for them for the last five. Doyle took a restraining order out six months ago against an ex-boyfriend but apart from that, she’s never been in any trouble that required police involvement.”
‘Maria Nay’ was starting to be tiresome. I willed the song to stop.
“Get what you can. I’m coming back in anyway.”
“We can handle it.”
“I know, but I do need to start working on the mystery man in the photograph the courier delivered and speak to that courier.” I was standing in the living room staring at the small hole in the wall. “I’ll come back in.”
“Everything all right?”
“I’m not sure, she and Joey have been acting weird.”
Lee bristled. “He better not be putting the moves on her, that is unacceptable and she’s too young!”
“They’re both too young, but I don’t think it’s that.”
“I’ve seen how he looks at her, he’s a guy … she’s cute, of course it’s that.”