“You’re going to miss them terribly, Dev,” I said. “Are you sure you want to move?”
“It’ll be tough but doable,” Dev said through a determined locked jaw that conveyed his own doubts. He checked his watch. “I don’t have to be there for a few hours, so let’s get down to business. I want to know what’s going on. I have Andrea’s side. What’s cooking on your side?”
“Speaking of cooking, how about we order Chinese or go out for an early dinner?” suggested Greg. “Our treat and no argument. Odelia and I have been on the run all day and haven’t been able to eat since breakfast.”
“Yes,” I agreed with enthusiasm. “We were going to take sandwiches when we went to talk to Fehring, but we forgot. You know how long the police can keep you.”
Dev grinned at my words. “It’s part of our interrogation tactics—starve the truth out of them. An early dinner sounds good, but how about Thai instead of Chinese?” he suggested. “There’s a great place that just opened up not too far from here.”
Once the takeout arrived, the three of us sat around Dev’s kitchen table hashing over the day’s events while eating Thai food. Muffin had settled down after some exploration, and Wainwright was outside on the lawn. Fehring had pretty much filled Dev in on everything, but he questioned us extensively about our conversation with Jean Utley and our encounter with John Swayze.
“So the dad says they were close, and she said she hadn’t seen or talked to him in years,” Dev said, recapping what we’d told him.
“Yes,” said Greg. “That’s what she said. One of them is lying, and I’m betting it wasn’t Jean.”
“And something is off about that Nathan Glick guy,” I added, picking up our dirty plates and taking them to the sink.
“How so?” asked Dev.
Greg leaned over toward Dev. “Here’s where we don’t agree. Odelia thinks it’s odd that Glick is close to Finch and showed up here with him. I think it’s only natural.”
Dev leaned back in his chair. “Tell me what you’re each thinking.”
“Well,” said Greg. “Nathan Glick was one of Zach’s close friends. Why wouldn’t Alec Finch help him out with a scholarship and a job if he thought the kid had potential?”
“On that I agree, Greg,” I said, returning to the table.
“And,” Greg continued, “with Zach turning up after all these years, why wouldn’t Glick come along in case the police wanted to question him more about the night Zach went missing. He was one of the last to see him alive that night.”
Dev looked to me for a rebuttal. I had nothing. “That makes sense, too,” I agreed. “Everything makes sense on the surface, but I still have a creepy feeling in my gut about Glick. He kept trying to calm Finch down, and Finch kept brushing him off.”
“Finch was upset,” Greg said. “And he’s used to handling people, not people handling him. Any attempts to do that would naturally be met with brusqueness. He was also sure we had something to do with Zach’s death and was focused on us. He even accused us of wanting some sort of reward or payment.”
“Yes.” I pointed my right index finger at my husband. “He did, and the way he worded it was odd, I thought.”
“What did he say exactly?” Dev asked, leaning forward again in his chair to listen better.
I took a deep breath and gave it some thought before answering. “He said something like for us to tell whoever we were working with that he’d already paid and not to expect anything else.”
“Actually,” Greg added, “he told us to tell whoever we were working with to piss off. His exact words.”
“He could be referring to the original kidnappers,” Dev said after mulling it over. “He could have thought you’d been holding Zach all these years and now were looking to cash in twice.”
“Look at us, Dev,” I said with frustration. “Do we look like we swooped into a small town in Illinois years ago and grabbed a teenager practically from his front yard? We can barely handle our pets.”
Dev was trying hard not to laugh at the thought. “You don’t have to be the ones who kidnapped Zach to be working now with the people who took him and held him captive.”
“Very true,” Greg agreed.
“Getting back to Nathan Glick,” I said, not comfortable with us being in the limelight as suspects, even around the dinner table. “I was watching him when Swayze announced that Jean was dead. While Alec Finch nearly lost his mind, Glick didn’t look surprised at all.”
Both men looked at me. “Are you sure?” Dev asked.
“I was watching both men, and their reactions were totally different,” I explained. “Shouldn’t Glick be in at least a tiny bit of shock about the news?”
“You’d think,” said Greg. “Unless he was so intent on keeping his boss under control, all his energy was spent there.”
“This was a woman’s sudden death we’re talking about,” I went on to say. “Someone Glick knew well when he was a teen.”
Dev leaned back in his chair. “I do think that’s enough to dig deeper into Glick,” he said after a short silence. “Maybe Clark can help ferret out his relationship with Alec Finch.”
“Clark is in Illinois right now checking on Zach’s friends and the Finch family,” I admitted.
Dev only nodded. “I’m not surprised. Has he learned anything yet?”
“Nothing,” I replied. “Chris Cook, one of Zach’s friends who was with him the night he disappeared, is nowhere to be found. His business is closed for the weekend, and no one appears to be home. Nathan Glick we know is currently here. He resides in Chicago, and I believe he’s single. The third kid was killed in a snowboarding incident shortly after Zach disappeared.”
Dev leaned forward. “Do I want to ask where you got all this information?”
“I’m a paralegal, Dev,” I repeated for the umpteenth time in a short period. “I have access to all kinds of search engines.”
Dev fixed his eyes on mine and held them for several seconds. He did the same with Greg, then simply said, “Bullpucky.”
Just then my cell phone rang. Saved by the bell. I left the table to retrieve my phone from my bag. It was Fehring. “What’s up?”
“What’s up is that the Finch story is about to break,” she told me. “The news conference is about to start. Get to a TV if you’re interested.”
“The news conference is about to start,” I told the guys. Dev got up and turned on his TV, and we all moved to the living room to watch it. “Did you ever catch up to Swayze?” I asked Fehring.
“No,” she answered. “I sent a unit to the address you gave me in Long Beach. It was a mailbox place.”
“How did he know about Jean?” I asked.
“All we can figure out,” Fehring said, “is that he followed you and Greg there. Apparently, smashing his hand with a bat wasn’t warning enough to stay away from you two.”
“How is Mr. Finch?” I asked.
“Still hell-bent on talking to you two, so stay out of his way. In fact, stay put at Dev’s at least until tomorrow night. Got that? Now I gotta run.”
The news conference was handled by Special Agent Shipman. He stood behind a podium set in front of the police station. In front of him was a gaggle of microphones. Behind him stood several people in business attire, including Fehring, some police officers in uniform, and Alec Finch. Next to Finch stood Nathan Glick. Both men appeared to be wearing the same suits they were wearing earlier. This time Finch did look a little ragged around the edges. Glick still looked poised and in control.
“That’s Nathan Glick,” I said to Dev, pointing to the left of Finch.
Dev sat down on the edge of an ottoman and leaned forward to study the man while Shipman talked about finding Zach Finch’s body after he’d disappeared eight years earlier. He confirmed that it was Zach’s corpse found in the trunk of a car at a local car wash earlier in the week. He also talked about Jean’s death, noting that both deaths were under investigation through the combined efforts of the bu
reau, the Long Beach Police Department, and the Los Angeles Police Department, and because of the ongoing investigation he wasn’t at liberty to disclose much information. He made no mention of me and kept it short and sweet. As soon as he was done, he was peppered with questions from the press. He pointed at a woman in the front with long, thick brown hair and too much makeup.
“Where has Zach been all these years?” she asked. “Was he living in California?”
“We don’t know at this time,” Shipman answered and pointed to an African-American woman on the other side.
“Did Zach’s sister have anything to do with his disappearance eight years ago?” this one asked.
“We don’t know at this time,” Shipman again replied. He pointed to a young Latino man standing next to her, granting him permission to ask his question.
“What about the woman who found him in the trunk of her car?” he asked. “You haven’t disclosed her name. Is she a suspect?”
“Her name is Odelia Grey,” called out a familiar voice that made my teeth clench until they hurt.
Upon being outed by John Swayze, I plopped down on Dev’s sturdy leather sofa. This was not how I imagined my turn at fifteen minutes of fame would be. I closed my eyes tight, willing it to go away. Fehring had promised they would do their best not to disclose my name, but she’d said it might leak out. For a fleeting moment I wished I’d hit John Swayze in the head with that bat.
“Is this woman,” another reporter called to Shipman, “this Odelia Grey, is she a suspect in either murder?” The camera panned to the gaggle of reporters, and I saw it was Gloria Connors asking the question, her perky elfin face pinched with determination.
Shipman shook his head. “At this time, no, she is not, but I can assure you we are looking into all possibilities.”
“I understand,” pushed Connors, “that this Grey woman was at the scene when the Finch woman fell to her death.” The camera found her again.
“As I said,” repeated Shipman as the camera ping-ponged back to him, “at this time, Ms. Grey is not a suspect but we are exploring all possibilities.”
“At this time?” Greg yelled at Shipman through the TV. “All possibilities? How about just saying no, she’s not? Period.”
“Calm down, Greg,” Dev said, holding out a hand toward him. “It’s just standard language.”
“I don’t give a damn,” Greg said to Dev. “My wife’s name was just put on TV as a possible murder suspect, no matter how boilerplate the language.”
“Honey,” I said, finally opening my eyes, “Detective Fehring said something like this might happen.”
Greg pointed at the TV. “That little worm Swayze. We should have filed charges against him.”
I stopped burying my head in the sand and watched again. More reporters were asking questions, and Shipman was deftly sidestepping them. Swayze didn’t put his hand up but continued to push about suspects, especially me, from the edge of the crowd. Connors was in the hunt with him. Shipman ignored both, while Fehring stared in Swayze’s direction. It made me wonder if she was silently directing officers to apprehend Swayze.
“Why is Swayze continuing to throw me under the bus?” I asked. “Is he trying to get revenge for my smashing his hand or does he really believe I had something to do with it?”
“He could just be pursuing what he thinks is a hot story,” Dev said. “A story he thinks could change his life and give him a chance with Connors, so he’s motivated.” Dev leaned forward even more toward the TV until I thought he would topple over.
When Shipman was done, Alex Finch stepped up to the podium. He looked at the reporters, moving his head slowly from side to side almost a full thirty seconds as they snapped still photos and ran video, like it was a photo op at a red carpet event. “I want to thank the FBI and both the Long Beach and Los Angeles Police Departments for everything they are doing to bring Zach and Jean’s murderers to justice. For more than eight years our family has lived a nightmare, and it is far from over. Two years after Zach went missing, my dear wife, Zach’s mother, took her own life because she could not bear the pain any longer.” He paused, giving that statement time to soak into the viewer’s brains, then looked straight at the camera and pounded his fist on the podium. “I vow that I will not rest,” he said, his voice cracking as he choked up, “and I will put all of my own personal resources on the line until I find whoever stole my family from me.” He started to say more but was overcome with emotion.
Nathan Glick stepped up and put an arm around the now-spent Finch. Moving him gently to the side a few inches, Glick spoke firmly into the microphone. “What has happened is unspeakable. It would be appreciated if the media would respect the privacy of the Finch family at this difficult and tragic time. Any further questions should be directed to Special Agent Shipman or the police.”
The press conference ended and the scene switched to an anchor in the newsroom who talked about Zach’s kidnapping eight years earlier. Projected to the side was a toothy photo of a cocky, fresh teenage boy. Next flashed a photo of Jean. It was a beautiful professional headshot, and the newscaster talked about how Jean was cut down at the beginning of a promising acting career. The anchor said anyone having any information about the deaths of Zach Finch or his sister, Jean Finch Utley, should contact the number at the bottom of the screen. A toll-free number was posted, big and bold, at the bottom of the TV screen.
twenty-three
When the newscast was over, Dev turned off the TV and just stood staring at it. Greg wheeled over to me and took my hand. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said to me, giving my hand a squeeze. “The police know you’re not the murderer.” Even though his words were comforting, I could see from the high color in his face that he was still angry over Shipman’s words.
“It’s okay, honey,” I said to him. With my free hand, I stroked his face. “Agent Shipman was just doing his job.”
“I’d still like to teach that creep Swayze a lesson,” he said.
“Something tells me he’s a slow learner.” I moved my hand up and brushed the side of Greg’s hair back. I loved my husband’s hair. Touching it was more comforting than a steaming bowl of mac and cheese.
“Hmm,” Dev said, still staring at the TV. “That Glick guy is Zach’s age, correct?”
“Yes,” I told him. “They were high school pals, but if I remember the report correctly, Glick was a year ahead of him in age and in school. He was the one driving the car that night, so he had to be at least sixteen.”
“So he’s only about twenty-four now,” Dev said.
I gave it some quick thought. “That would be about right.”
“Do you know what he does for Aztec?” Dev asked. It felt strangely like he was interrogating someone and I was that person’s proxy.
“I believe he’s VP or assistant VP of some kind.” I got up and went to my laptop bag. I pulled out my computer and fired it up. Soon I was looking at the report from Marigold that I’d saved. I scanned it. “It says here he was seventeen when Zach went missing.” I looked at his personal stats, then added, “He was in his last year of high school when it happened.”
Dev finally turned away from the blank TV. “So that would make him twenty-five now. That’s still pretty young to be a vice president of a major company, isn’t it? Not to mention his boss’s confidant.”
I looked at the report again. “It says here that Glick is Vice President of Public Affairs.” I glanced over at Dev. “Would that be like PR?”
“More like public image stuff, media relations, liaison to agencies, etc.,” Greg answered. “That could be why he’s here, in addition to being a witness in the original kidnapping.”
“And a youthful public rep would be a good image to project,” Dev conceded. “He’s a good-looking kid and well packaged, but he still seems young to have such responsibilities in a major company.” Dev looked at me. “Are you sure that doesn’t say Assistant VP?”
“I’m sure,” I answered.
> “Could be Finch fast-tracked him because of their longtime ties,” Greg suggested.
“Do you know what Jean did at her daddy’s company?” Dev asked me.
I opened the report on Jean and scanned it. “She was a project manager.” I looked up. Dev looked tired. Dark circles cupped the bottom of his blue eyes, which drooped now at the edges from the pull of time. He’d probably be asleep as soon as he got his grandkids down tonight. “But that could mean most anything.”
“It could,” Dev said, rubbing a hand over his craggy face a few times. “But it’s not an executive position. Does that report say when Glick became a VP?”
I looked again at the report. “No, it doesn’t, but he started there three years ago.”
“He might have worked there a couple of years before getting that spot,” Greg noted, “and Jean might not have been there long enough to prove herself.”
I compared Jean and Nathan’s employment records. “Jean told us she didn’t know what happened to Zach’s friends, but according to this she left Aztec the same time as Nathan Glick showed up at the company. It just gives the years, so they may or may not have overlapped.”
“True,” Dev said. He still didn’t look convinced, and neither was I. There was something about Nathan Glick that nagged at me.
“I’m going to head out now, guys,” Dev said to us. “Make yourselves at home. Call my cell if you need anything.” He started to walk back into the kitchen area, where a small overnight bag was waiting by the back door. He picked it up and put one hand on the doorknob.
A cell phone rang. It was a generic ring, not one of the ones Greg and I had assigned to family and friends, so it could be anyone. Greg and Dev both pulled their phones out and looked at them and then at me.
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