Strand of Deception

by Robin Caroll

  But not being able to read him . . . it bothered Nick. Had he lost his touch? “We’re waiting for positive identification now.”

  Tiddle shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. “She can’t be dead.” The young man’s voice shook.

  “One of Gina’s friends reported she was upset yesterday. Do you know anything about that?”

  “No. She didn’t say anything about being upset about anything to me. Who said that?”

  “Cynthia Mantle. She was with Gina last night at study group.”

  Tiddle scowled. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t hold up anything Cyn says as the gospel. She and Gina weren’t exactly the bestest of buds recently.”

  Interesting. “How’s that? Her father says Cynthia’s been Gina’s best friend for years.”

  “They were, but over the past couple of years, they’ve not been as close. Gina had finally gotten enough of Cynthia’s jealousy.”

  “Jealousy?” Mantle hadn’t mentioned any falling out.

  “Yeah. Gina made better grades. Had more friends. Had a stable relationship. Definitely had more money. Everything Cyn wanted, Gina had.”

  “I see.” Nick made a note. “When was the last time you spoke with Gina?”

  Tiddle stroked the stubble on his chin. “Yesterday morning, before I left town.”

  “So, that would be before nine?”

  “I guess.”

  “She didn’t sound upset to you?”

  Tiddle shook his head. “She was a little stressed about something to do with her dad, and she had a big project coming up.”

  Nick chewed the inside of his lip. “What about her dad was stressing her?”

  “Dunno. She didn’t say. Just that she was worried about him.”

  Now that was interesting. “Did she mention her plans for the morning?”

  “No. We got off the phone so I could leave. She said she was going to head to the gym to work out later.”

  “And call her dad?”

  Tiddle smiled, although it came across more as a sneer. “Of course. Same time, every day of the week. Just like clockwork. Her dad would have it no other way.” Only a hint of disapproval in his tone.

  “You don’t agree?”

  “Not for me to agree or disagree. It’s just the way it is.”

  Nick pushed. “But you don’t like it?”

  Tiddle shrugged. “I think it silly that a man feels such compulsion to have twenty-four-hour tabs on his twenty-five-year-old daughter. A little odd, wouldn’t you say, Agent?”

  “Considering who her father is, it’s a security precaution.”

  “Just like it was for security reasons he had her sit out three years before enrolling in college?” Tiddle gave a dry laugh. “Sounds like you’re drinking the Kool-Aid, man. Security? Not hardly. Senator Ford just liked having his little girl under his thumb.”

  Now the real emotion flew out. “Your opinion, or Gina’s?” Nick recalled Cynthia Mantle’s remarks about Ford’s overbearing ways toward his daughter.

  “Gina adored her father, don’t get me wrong, but lately, she’d grown tired of his constant attempts to control her life.”

  “What did she say?”

  “It wasn’t so much what she said, but the way she acted.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Tiddle lifted a casual shoulder. “Like when he’d call when we were out. She’d tell me to be quiet so he wouldn’t know we were together. She’d tell him she was studying or something and cut the call short.”

  Nick tapped his pen against the little leather notebook. “Did the senator disapprove of you?”

  “He didn’t disapprove of me, per se, but of any man Gina had more than a passing interest in.” Tiddle snorted. “And as I’m sure you know, the senator has been quite outspoken with his views regarding different races.”

  All of Tennessee had heard Senator Ford’s speeches regarding the divisions in life based upon race. “Did you know Gina kept her relationship with you from her father until recently?”

  “Of course. She told me that as soon as she told him about me, he’d be all up in our business. And she was right.” Tiddle grinned and shook his head. “He continuously called and asked us out to eat, telling Gina he wanted to get to know ‘your young man better,’ but really, he just wanted to see for himself how serious we were. His daughter, fraternizing with a white man.”

  “And how serious are you?”

  Tiddle’s eyes widened. “I love Gina and want to marry her. We plan on doing just that as soon as she graduates in June.”

  Mantle had it right. They were practically engaged. “Did Gina tell her father that?”

  “Are you kidding? So he could start causing us problems?” Tiddle crossed his legs at the ankles. “Gina didn’t want a big to-do, even if her father accepted our relationship. She wouldn’t even let me buy her an engagement ring.”

  “How was she planning on telling her father?”

  “We’d discussed just eloping. Make it easier.”

  “Really?” Nick couldn’t imagine the senator not making a huge affair out of his daughter’s wedding, interracial relationship aside. It would pack quite the political punch.

  “We went back and forth on the idea. Gina wanted to for my sake with her father, but didn’t because she knew how much a big wedding would mean to her mother.” He stood. “Is there anything else?”

  Nick stood too and passed his business card to Tiddle. “If you think of anything that might be helpful or if you hear from Gina, please call me immediately.”

  Tiddle accepted the card. “So you aren’t positive the woman you found is Gina?”

  “No, sir.”

  “So there’s still hope she’s alive and well somewhere?”

  Funny, Tiddle’s face didn’t reflect any optimism. “Nothing is confirmed yet.” Nick opened the front door.

  “Will you call me?” His voice hitched. “When you know for sure, I mean.” He leaned against the door frame. “I doubt her father will call me.”

  “I’m sure you’ll hear.” Nick headed to his car. His cell vibrated. He took it from his hip. “Hagar.”

  “It’s Darren, sir. I’m on my way to Gina Ford’s.”

  “I’ll meet you there.” Nick cranked the engine.

  If only he could be sure one way or the other if Tiddle had just played him or not. He remembered what it felt like to believe you were in love. He’d thought he felt that way about Joy. What a revelation it’d been when he’d found out the truth. But now, he had a job to do: get to the truth. And there was no better time than the present.

  Nick eased his car onto Poplar Avenue. What was it about David Tiddle that he didn’t trust? The guy’s alibi would be checked out thoroughly, so he’d have to be an idiot to lie to Nick. He called the office and put in the order to have the alibi verified, then drove the twenty or so minutes to Gina Ford’s condo in the Woodlands.

  Timmons’s car waited at the guard shack. He and Nick had to show their credentials to gain entry into the town-house community. Once done, they pulled up in the driveway on the left and parked. No light blazed over the door in welcome. No soft glow flickered behind the front window.

  Nick used the senator’s key to unlock the door and stepped over the threshold. He felt along the wall until he found a light switch and flipped it. Light bathed the room in a warm glimmer. He blinked to focus on the iron staircase to the right, with its slight curve to the left opening into the second story.

  “Wow, nice digs for a college kid, huh?” Timmons pushed the door closed.

  “Dad probably pays the note. Did you find out anything important from your interviews with the other study-group members?”

  “Just confirmed what the senator had told us. Was there, didn’t go for p
izza, said she was going home instead. Last any of them heard from her.”

  “Did any of them mention Gina acting strange or upset?”

  Timmons shook his head. “Nothing. Most of them said they only knew her through the study group, but that she didn’t socialize with them much outside of schoolwork.”

  Nick glanced around. Nothing appeared out of place—throw pillows propped neatly against the back of the sofa facing the fireplace, blinds on the back window drawn, shielding the deck from view, and no drag marks across the white carpet. No sign of forced entry. No sign of a struggle.

  “I’ll check out the upstairs.” Timmons bounded up the stairs.

  Nick checked out the master bedroom on the main floor. Nothing of interest. By all appearances, Gina Ford was a neat person. She didn’t have piles of clothes on her bedroom or bathroom floor . . . her closet didn’t hide mounds of discarded shoes. The only thing of interest Nick ran across was her date book.

  He swallowed hard as he hovered over the leather-bound book. It was one of these that had first led Nick to learn Joy was cheating on him. That she had someone she saw at least twice a week, only staying with Nick because of the security he provided. He knew better than to get involved with a former victim. Knew better, but hadn’t been able to refuse Joy’s big, green eyes begging him to protect her from her sister’s kidnapper. How was he supposed to know how badly the relationship would end once her sister’s kidnapper was finally found?

  Nick shook off the bitter memories and concentrated on Gina’s date book. Flipping through it using a pen to turn pages, he noticed she listed each of her classes, study groups, and dates methodically. Consistent to Tiddle’s and Mantle’s statements, Gina and Tiddle were an exclusive and serious couple. They’d gone out practically every night of the past two weeks with the exception of study-group nights. Movie-ticket stubs, concert tickets, even fortune-cookie fortunes were taped on the day with notes. Nothing was listed for today except her class schedule.

  Timmons met him in the hallway. “Nothing upstairs. Just got the call that her cell records are in.”

  “Good. I want to know who she talked to after eleven last night.”

  Together, they concluded the inspection of the home, finding nothing else of interest. They checked the backyard, looking around both decks, then secured the property and returned to their cars. Nick waited until Timmons had pulled out, heading back to the office to write up the reports for the briefing in the morning and get the phone records on Nick’s desk.

  Darkness engulfed Nick as he sat in the car, the moon not even high enough in the sky to cast any light down on him.

  Obviously Gina hadn’t been murdered at home—there was nothing amiss that Nick could tell. If her identity was confirmed, TBI would send a unit by tomorrow for a more thorough inspection. But for now, nothing at her home indicated she had met with foul play.

  A glimmer of hope, faint as his reality conscience could allow, that the victim wasn’t Gina sparked. The medical examiner could’ve been wrong. There were plenty of young women with similar enough features that an identity could be mistaken.

  Who was he fooling?

  It was Gina Ford. So young, with her whole life ahead of her, now gone.

  Senseless.

  She’d been murdered, and Nick hadn’t a single working clue on the case.

  A film of sweat glistened on her hands. Maddie stood paralyzed in the kitchen, milk drying on her Uggs and pants, her eyes glued to the phone sitting on the kitchen counter.

  Brring!

  Maybe the police needed to talk with her about her report. She grabbed the receiver. “Hello?”

  The woman’s sobs grew in pitch and intensity. Maddie made her way into the bedroom and pulled her handgun to her. “Who is this?”

  “You should have left things alone.” The man’s voice . . . unlike anything Maddie had ever heard, was as chilling as a Hollywood version of a demonic voice.

  She dropped the phone. It clattered to the floor. The woman’s sobs spilled from the earpiece.

  “What do you want?” Despite her grip on the gun, Maddie’s body trembled.

  The doorbell rang.

  She pivoted, stubbing her toe on the edge of the stove. “Ouch!”

  “Memphis police, open up!”

  Maddie exhaled as she limped to the front door, splashing in the puddle of milk and leaving behind a trail of white footprints until she flung open the door.

  Two uniformed officers stood on the doorstep. Both men had their hands on the butts of their handguns. They spied the gun in her hand and drew their weapons. “Drop the gun, ma’am.”

  “Whoa, I’m a TBI agent. Let me get my badge. I’m going to set my gun down.” She slowly squatted and set her gun on the entryway floor.

  The police holstered their guns and stepped into the house while Maddie grabbed her badge out of her purse sitting on the entry table. She showed them. “I’m sorry.”

  “No problem.” The tall, older officer sat on the couch. “I understand you’ve had a threatening phone call?”

  Maddie perched on the arm of the love seat opposite the couch and recounted the two calls. The younger officer with flaming red hair filled out the report form. Inside of thirty minutes, they’d concluded the report, given her the report number so she could acquire a copy next week, and informed her they’d send a cruiser through her neighborhood as they could spare patrols.

  “I understand. Thank you, Officers.” She led the way to the door.

  “If you get any more calls, I’d suggest you consider changing to a private number. You have a safe night, ma’am.”

  After shutting the door behind them, she secured the locks, then grabbed her gun before heading to the kitchen. Every limb weighted her down as she set her gun on the counter and reached for the dish towel. Tears blurred her vision as she bent to wipe up the floor.

  No use crying over spilt milk.

  That thought made her laugh. And laugh. And laugh so hard she lost her balance and landed on her bottom. Which made it all the funnier.

  Maddie laughed until tears ran down her face. She really needed to go to bed. Exhaustion tugged at her from all directions. As she mopped up the mess, she began humming “Amazing Grace,” the first Elvis song she ever remembered hearing. Her mother sang it to her whenever she was hurt or scared or heartbroken. Mom had been the one who’d bought Maddie all those Elvis albums back in the day.

  On days like this, she missed Mom more than ever.

  Chapter Six

  “The truth is like the sun. You can shut it out for a time,

  but it ain’t goin’ away.”

  Elvis Presley

  Nick leaned against the cold wall outside the morgue while Senator Ford paced the hallway. The February morning delivered below-freezing temperatures, or was it just where he was that had the hair on the back of his neck standing at full attention? Either way, he hated being here.

  “How much longer?” Ford made another lap, his soft-soled shoes barely squeaking on the waxed linoleum.

  Nick glanced at his watch—8:58—but he knew Ford didn’t really expect an answer. In a few minutes, the senator’s entire life would change forever, so Nick would indulge his impatience for a few more minutes. No matter how many times he’d been in this place with the same or similar situation, nothing made this part of his job easier.

  After the team briefing this morning, Nick had time to review Gina’s phone records. Only two calls were made between 11:00 on Thursday night and 10:00 on Friday morning: One at 11:14 Thursday night, to her father, as he’d stated. The second to David Tiddle at 7:50 Friday morning. Duration of call lasted only four minutes.

  The registered incoming calls were all on Friday morning. Only one was logged before the time of death, from Cynthia Mantle. They spoke from 8:04 until 8:06. A
ll the other calls were less than a minute, indicative of a call going to voice mail. Most of the calls were from the senator after Gina failed to call him on schedule and from David Tiddle. According to the phone records, Cynthia was the last person to speak to Gina.

  Cynthia hadn’t mentioned talking with Gina on the morning she went missing when Nick had questioned her. Then again, she hadn’t mentioned being on the outs with Gina either. Perhaps it was time to visit with Ms. Mantle again.

  The door of the morgue creaked open and McMichael stepped into the claustrophobic space. He nodded at Nick, then addressed the senator. “Sir, she’s ready.”

  Chills spread out from Nick’s spine and pressed against his lungs as he pushed off the wall and stood beside Ford. The medical examiner held open the door for them as they passed into the room.

  The brushed finish glistened under the harsh light over the table holding the sheet-draped body. The very tip of the woman’s head peeked out from under the white cotton. As always, Nick’s mouth went drier than the Mojave Desert. He stood on the wall farthest from the body.

  “Sir.” McMichael situated the senator beside the table while he moved to the opposite side. He folded down the sheet once. Twice.

  The senator sucked in air, hissing over his teeth.

  McMichael tucked the sheet around the body at the top of the shoulders so only the young woman’s face and neck were exposed, her smooth mocha skin almost translucent against the unyielding stainless steel.

  Ford hunched over as if someone had jabbed him in the gut. He exhaled in a resounding whoosh.

  Nick’s chest tightened as his own memories flooded him . . .

  “I don’t want to see him,” Dad boomed in the quiet funeral home. “And I don’t want everyone else gawking at him either.”

  “But Roge, I need to say good-bye.” Mom hadn’t stopped sobbing for two solid days.

  “Then you go say good-bye the way you have to, but I refuse to have an open viewing. It’s morbid.”

  Nick sat on the overstuffed love seat in the funeral home’s reception area. He gripped his hands together in his lap, watching his parents like he watched a tennis match on television. Not ever see Roger again? That his brother was gone still hadn’t sunk in. He kept waiting for Roger to jump out from behind a door, laughing that he’d worried everyone so.