Fatal Secrets

by Barbara Phinney

  “And the only way you could know that for sure is by talking to Jackson.” She sighed. “Look, I don’t care if you’ve been talking to the president about this, but I decided that my search for my mother can’t be any riskier than her being in that safe house all those years ago. I was nearly killed back then.”

  She stiffened her spine. “And I have yet to see Vincent Martino here. He’d be a fool to come here with Montana crawling with law enforcement officers, federal or otherwise.”

  Zane listened to her tirade, expecting Clay to acquiesce, but then remembered the dynamic reporter that the police officer had recently proposed to. Clay would have to be tough.

  “This situation is of your own making, Kristin,” Clay answered. “You have led someone here to Montana. How else would they know to go after Tammy, a person your father had been ready to contact? You told me just a few minutes ago that you think someone broke in to your home and read your father’s file.”

  “Someone may have broken in to my home. And I didn’t lead anyone to Montana or here. We don’t have all the facts yet.”

  “How else would the shooter get this woman’s address, if not from your father’s files?”

  Kristin swallowed. Zane knew Clay’s words affected her deeply. And judging from her glance down the hall, she was wondering if that was her mother there. His heart squeezed in sympathy.

  She shook her head. “If the Martino family found out I was in Montana, then it was from someone else who knew where I was. Like maybe from that article in the Billings newspaper.”

  Zane watched Clay West’s expression change ever so slightly. Kristin’s words had hit a nerve. No, maybe not a nerve, but something the police officer knew, or suspected. Was there a leak somewhere in the system? Was someone feeding the Martino family information? Someone who knew Kristin? A cop gone bad or someone who worked with the FBI or the Marshals?

  “The Mob knows Eloise is somewhere in the state, and hadn’t bothered with Kristin until they decided to flush Eloise out.” Zane hated to voice his concern, but he had to face the facts. Ignoring the situation, as his mother had done for so many years, wouldn’t solve anything. And they needed the truth about Tammy Lockhart.

  Clay’s expression turned skeptical. “That’s assuming Eloise knows where her daughter is, though.”

  Kristin looked back down the hallway, where that woman, Tammy, lay on the floor. From this vantage point, they could only see the sheet-draped feet. Zane heard her small gasp.

  “Kristin?” he asked.

  She looked back at him. “So this woman wasn’t my mother?”

  Zane turned to Clay West. The man shook his head, as his voice dropped. “No. I spoke to Micah McGraw a few minutes ago. Tammy Lockhart was really Tamela Longpré. She’d been in the program for about five years, having been a mistress for an arms dealer down in Texas before that. The guy died in prison eighteen months ago, but Tamela decided to stay here with her new identity.” He looked at Kristin. “I’m sorry. She wasn’t your mother. Joey Hamilton was wrong about her.”

  As devastating as that was to Kristin, Zane felt it necessary to add, “We know that the two men who have been following Kristin think she’s Eloise, and don’t know that she’s the daughter.”

  Clay nodded. “I know that the Martino family has been targeting women who are younger than Eloise, because it’s hard to guess an age sometimes. But that doesn’t mean that someone in the family won’t realize who you really are. That photo with the article in the Billings paper might just be all someone else needs to find you. Either way, you’re in danger.”

  A man walked in from the where the poor woman’s body lay. With gloved hands, he held out a small clear square. “I’ve lifted a smudge from the floor. I believe it came from the woman’s hand. It’s some kind of black grease.”

  “May I see it?” Zane asked.

  The man showed him the square, and Zane studied the way the light hit it. Kristin leaned in close, too. “It’s not grease, but graphite paint,” she said. “And it’s made only in Chicago.”

  Zane added, “You can check with the lab at Westbrook U. They tested something similar that had been on my car seat.”

  “Explain,” Clay asked.

  Zane told Clay about Kristin’s vest, and how the smudge was transferred to his car seat. Then about how the smudge had been removed from the vest before it could be tested. Clay took some notes, then as he finished, he touched Kristin’s arm to move the three of them away from the entrance to the house.

  At the front door, Zane looked down toward the kitchen just as the coroner’s staff wheeled the body into the hallway. He could feel Kristin stiffen as she witnessed the poor woman’s last trip from her house.

  Time to get Kristin home, Zane decided. They shouldn’t be here anymore. They’d already given their statements, and hashed and rehashed the merits of coming down here. Zane refused to allow Clay to blame Kristin, though she’d done a good job of standing up for herself.

  They left the house. A neighbor stood at the end of the driveway, holding the dog by the collar while talking to the police officer who’d moved Zane’s car—the second one, as his other one was still parked at the hotel—from the driveway to make room for the morgue’s vehicle.

  Zane steered Kristin away from the pair, and toward his car, where another officer had parked it.

  As they drove away, they passed Violet Kramer speeding to get to the scene. Zane blew out a sigh. He’d already learned that the ambitious reporter had been looking for her big break, that one great story to put her into the big leagues. Well, he didn’t want Kristin interviewed and put back into the spotlight again.

  Heading back to Westbrook, listening to the silence lingering between them, Zane was tempted to turn on the radio.

  Finally, Kristin spoke. “Maybe I should stop searching. Maybe it is me who caused this needless death.”

  “It’s not, Kristin. This woman died before we got here. She could have been dead a week for all we know.”

  “You don’t believe that, do you?”

  “Why not? It’s been pretty cool this May. Her back window was open, her heat was off, so the house never warmed up. I don’t know anything more, but I do know you’re not to blame.”

  “They’re starting to kill women because of me.”

  “No, they aren’t!”

  “So who is killing them? And what’s the connecting factor here?”

  “A leak in the system, that’s what. Someone believes the women in the Witness Protection Program, the ones they’re killing, are your mother, and they know about you. They didn’t follow you from Chicago or Maine. They learned of you from someone in the FBI or Marshal’s Office or who lives in Billings.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “Someone saw you at the trial, or someone read that article in the Billings newspaper, and told them. Though the article is online, not many would know where to find it. But if you subscribed to the paper, you’d have seen it. And who else would subscribe, but a local person in Billings?”

  “The only people who knew who I was were Jackson McGraw and his brother, Micah. I really don’t think they’d be feeding the Mob information.”

  “I agree, but you’re not to blame, either.”

  “I just think if I hadn’t started my search, then that poor woman on that stretcher would still be alive. You remember what Violet said about how dangerous this is. She said she was pretty shaken up herself by her own investigation. What we need to do is—”

  “What we need to do is get you home, check your alarm system, update it if necessary and get back to work reading your father’s files. We can’t solve the leak problem, and we can’t change that Joey Hamilton got the wrong woman, and we can’t change that whoever broke in to your home got it all wrong, too. But we can find out for sure what your father had discovered.”

  “I wonder why Mom and Dad had been looking for Eloise.”

  “You say your adoptive parents were not young. Maybe they
felt they needed to find your mother in case something happened to them. Given what you’ve told me about your dad, he wouldn’t have given up his search unless he was convinced he’d found your mother.”

  “He was good at his job.”

  “And you have a similar bulldog attitude. I’d say it was from watching your father work all those years, while you were coloring in his office.”

  She smiled. “Maybe I have learned a few things from him.”

  The rest of the trip home was quiet, with Kristin actually nodding off to sleep for part of the journey. When they arrived back at her house, dusk was falling fast. The first thing Zane did when they let themselves into the house was to check all the door locks and windows.

  Then he checked the burglar alarm. “How old is this thing?”

  “It’s not the most up-to-date, but it works just fine. I did set it last night. When I came down this morning, I did what I always do, hit the deactivate button. If I don’t, I’ll accidentally walk out and set it off.”

  “That’s good, but this system is easy to bypass.”

  She hugged herself, and Zane knew she was doing her best to hold back contrition.

  He set his jaw. They both needed to be tough right now. “We’re going to change the locks on all your doors, and upgrade your burglar alarm system. This is the basic model that probably suited your family for years, but it’s obsolete.”

  She nodded. “The insurance company had suggested that when my parents died. Jake, the one who cracked my safe, can do all the upgrades. He’s licensed to upgrade this system, he told me when he first came here. He must have noticed how outdated it was.”

  “We’ll call him. Do you think he can come first thing tomorrow?”

  She suppressed a yawn. “Maybe. He’s a good friend.”

  Her words proved true. Jake was there early the next morning, and together with Zane’s help, he replaced all the locks and upgraded her system, adding a sensor by each door.

  Thankfully, her parents had set in place the ability to upgrade should they choose to and she did have the financial means to do it. Zane and Jake worked diligently all day, until finally, just after five, Jake announced that they were done.

  He spent the next half an hour explaining what he’d done and how the upgrades worked. Then, after declining the offer of supper because he was due at his sister Maggie’s apartment for a meal, he left.

  Kristin set about making their own hot supper while Zane reviewed her father’s file, and made a few phone calls from the office. The large map her father had often used covered the dining-room table and Zane had been consulting it regularly. Afraid she’d lose the various small notes and receipts, she carefully placed them back into the file and returned it to the office before she set the table. The meal ready, they sat down in the dining room and Kristin said grace.

  “I saw your father’s map and his markings on it,” Zane said when she finished.

  Leaning over to help herself to the vegetables, she looked at him. “Anything unusual?”

  “He’s marked Missoula, Billings and Lindbergh Lake a lot, but there were some notes scribbled on the edges.”

  “He used this map with his work, so I wouldn’t—”

  Abruptly, the sharp crash of breaking glass interrupted her, followed by the burglar alarm ringing out, piercingly loud. A thump sounded in the kitchen.

  Zane jumped up. “Someone’s trying to break in!”

  “Break back in, you mean! He’s come back to get more info!”

  “The alarm company will call 911, and—”

  The phone rang, and Kristin hurried out of the dining room. As she reached the hall, Zane yanked her back.

  Just in time, too. A loud crack, the report of a gun, ripped through the noisy air above the alarm’s piercing wail.

  “Stay back!” Zane pulled her farther into the dining room before tearing across the hall to her bedroom. Back against the wall, he pulled a gun from his waistband.

  Gun raised, he tore into the kitchen.

  The phone continued to ring, and Kristin raced out of the dining room and into the office to answer it, knowing it would be her alarm system’s monitoring office calling to check on her.

  But more important, she needed to grab the file. No matter what happened, she didn’t want her father’s papers to fall into the wrong hands. One woman had already died because of that.

  Her hand clamped down on the file, but as she scooped it up, its contents spilled out, including the papers and bills they hadn’t yet studied. Most papers slid over the edge of the desk and fluttered to the floor.

  With a flustered mutter, she looked down at the phone then the papers. Behind her, the sounds of crashing and thumping broke up the insistent ringing.

  She stared at the door, frozen in indecision. Was Zane all right?

  The ringing continued. Finally, ignoring the file’s contents, she reached for the phone. “Hello?”

  “Ms. Perry? This is your security company. We have an alarm sounding in your house. Is everything all right?”

  “No! Something’s happening!” She hated how she was panicking, but Zane was out there, maybe even dead on the floor.

  “It’s all right. We’re notifying the police. Where are you in the house right now? Are you alone?”

  The alarm shut off, drenching the house in cold silence. Leaning over the desk, Kristen gripped the phone tighter. “No,” she whispered. “My friend is in the dining room. I’m in the office. And someone else is out there.”

  “Is there a door to the outside in your office?”

  “No. I’m trapped in here.” She slid down onto the floor, praying a fast prayer before answering. When she opened her eyes again, she found herself staring at the file’s scattered papers.

  To be exact, her father’s phone ledger. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing, but it wasn’t the time to read it thoroughly. A final bang vibrated through the house, like the back door slamming shut, and then more silence.

  She gripped the phone. “Zane could be hurt. I have to check on him.”

  The man snapped back. “No! Stay where you are, Ms. Perry. I mean it.”

  “Kristin?”

  Lifting her head, she peered over the top of the desk. Zane stood in the doorway, his expression grim. She leaped up and rushed over to him. He intercepted her before she could reach the office door, catching her in his arms in a hard hug.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. “I thought you’d been killed!” She cupped his face, pulling him down to her height as she checked his expression thoroughly. “Don’t scare me like that again! I’ve lost too much in my life. I don’t want you dead, too.”

  Kristin clamped her mouth shut and stared at Zane in shock. Of course, she didn’t want him to be killed here, but the emotion in her voice rang deep and clear as the bell at the church. Did he hear how much he meant to her?

  In the distance, by the phone, the security company’s operator was calling out to her.

  He held her gaze. “We have a problem.”

  “What?”

  “The guy got away. He took the kitchen knife you’d laid on the counter by the back door.”

  “Let him have it.”

  “He also dropped his wallet. So, he’ll either be back to get it, or disappear forever.”

  “Let’s hope the latter.”

  Zane looked grim as he shook his head slowly. “I doubt it. He’s from Chicago. I’m guessing he works for Martino. It’s likely he’ll be back to finish what he started.”

  FOURTEEN

  Zane wished he hadn’t said anything. But he couldn’t exactly hide the truth from her. He’d seen the man through the broken back door window, and raced down to the basement to exit up through the narrow utility door, to come up on the man from behind.

  And even though he’d been quiet enough to sneak up the steps to the back door, the person had already leaned in and grabbed the knife, most likely for extra insurance.

  Zane had faced a man with
two lethal weapons. He’d managed to kick the gun from the guy’s hand, but not the knife.

  A quick tussle and the man had managed to twist away at the last second. He’d bolted down the steps and into the woods behind the house, leaving Zane to choose to either chase him or stay with Kristin. On his way back into the house, he’d checked out the wallet the man had lost in the fight.

  Zane released her. “You better talk to that guy on the phone.”

  “Oh!” She hurried back into the office. Zane could hear her tell how she and Zane were safe, but they needed the police. After a few more words, she hung up.

  When she returned, she stared down at the man’s wallet, now open in Zane’s hand. “Who is he? Not one of the guys who drove into the lake, I hope.”

  Zane read the driver’s license. “The name was Lucien Esposito. He’s got an Illinois driver’s license.”

  “Chicago, right?”

  He looked at the address. “You got it.”

  She paled. “Whoever Lucien is he wasn’t after Tammy. He’d have gone home by now because he’d already killed her.” Her chin wrinkled and she bit her lip. “Tammy was killed by mistake. The poor thing. After all she’d gone through.”

  “They were planning to grease your palm, too, so to speak.” Zane picked up a small tube of paint he’d found by the back door. “It’s graphite paint, made in Chicago.”

  “I need to call Jackson. I know that he’ll tell me off for what we’ve done, but he’d be a whole lot angrier if I don’t say anything.”

  Zane tossed the paint onto the kitchen table. “Do you think that’s a good idea, Kristin? That paint is from Chicago, so is our burglar, and so is Jackson McGraw. There were no attempts on your life before you visited him, and there is a leak to the Mafia from someone in the FBI or Marshal’s Office. He says not to trust the police, but maybe he’s the one we can’t trust? Maybe he’s the leak.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so. While I was on the phone, I saw the rest of the stuff in that file. My father had kept this ledger of phone calls he’d made and the one number jumped out at me. It was Jackson’s number! My father had called him dozens of times over the years! I don’t think he would hurt me.”