“You’ve been much kinder to me than my brother has ever been,” Jocelyn said at last, realizing Derek was still waiting for an answer.
“It’s decided, then,” Derek replied, his warm fingers wrapping around hers. “But I do think it’s time you allowed us to use your real name.”
Jocelyn recoiled from the idea. Revealing her name would mean that she’d have to confess other things as well, and possibly have to come before Lieutenant Reynolds and answer his questions about the shipwreck. An account might be published in a New York newspaper, listing her as the only survivor. She couldn’t allow that to happen.
“Derek, I—” she began. “Please don’t make me,” she croaked.
Derek removed his hand from hers, the gesture leaving her feeling vulnerable. “I think there’s much you’re not telling me, Jocelyn,” he said, all the gentleness and understanding of a few minutes ago now gone. “We all have our secrets, but if you want me to keep yours, I think you’d better give me a reason.”
Jocelyn scrambled for a plausible story, but Derek’s gaze was like a beam from a lighthouse, shining a light into her darkness and leaving her exposed to his scrutiny. She supposed she owed him the truth, or at least part of it.
“Can I count on your discretion?” she asked, matching his direct gaze with her own.
“Yes.” It was one simple word, but there was so much imbued in those three letters. She had no choice but to trust him, since the alternative was much riskier.
“All right,” Jocelyn said, but it wasn’t. Not really.
Chapter 36
March 2018
London
Quinn experienced a moment of apprehension when the doorbell rang but pushed it down and went to answer the door. It’d been a while since she’d seen Drew, but he hadn’t changed much. A few more gray hairs perhaps, and several more inches around the middle, but his gaze was just as keen and his smile just as warm.
“It’s good to see you, Quinn,” Drew said as he came in out of the rain, his mac dripping onto the tile floor.
“It’s good to see you too, Drew. Coffee?” Quinn asked, knowing he preferred it to tea.
“Please. It’s really pissing down out there.”
Drew took off his mac and tossed it over the banister before following Quinn into the kitchen. They made small talk while she made coffee, neither one of them ready to get down to business until they could give the case the attention it deserved.
“So, tell me,” Drew invited once they were seated at the kitchen table, a plate of almond biscuits between them.
“Drew, I have reason to believe Jo was murdered,” Quinn said. She’d wrapped her hands around the mug, finding the warmth radiating through her fingers comforting.
“What reason is that?” Drew asked.
Quinn took a deep breath and plunged in. She’d never told Drew what had happened in New Orleans. There’d been no reason to, but she had to begin at the beginning, when all the trouble with Brett had started.
Drew looked at Quinn thoughtfully as he stirred sugar into his second cup of coffee. He’d listened to her attentively, resisting the urge to pepper her narrative with questions. Now it was his turn to talk.
“First of all, let’s get something straight,” Drew said, his dark gaze speculative. “I know there’s something you’re not telling me, and I can only assume you’ve chosen to leave out some vital bits because you’re covering for someone. Now, I am not going to press you, but if you want me to help you, I need to know as much as possible.”
“I’ve told you all I can,” Quinn replied, cringing inwardly. She hated lying to Drew, but that was all she could give him without revealing where the information had come from.
“So, let us say that what you are suggesting is true and Brett killed your sister. What exactly do you hope to accomplish, Quinn?”
“I want to see him pay for what he’s done.”
“You do realize that you’ve given me nothing to work with?” Drew asked conversationally.
“Yes, but if we know who did it, surely we can work backward and try to establish some connection between Brett and Jo’s death.”
“Possibly,” Drew conceded, and took a sip of his coffee. He set down the mug and drummed his fingers on the table, a faraway look in his eyes.
At last, Drew took out a battered notepad and a biro pen and opened the notebook to a fresh page. “I’m going to need some information from you.”
“I will give you whatever I can.”
“I doubt that,” Drew said, obviously still put out with Quinn’s refusal to name her source. “I need the dates, the name of the hostel where Brett stayed, and anything you can recall of his itinerary. Where did he go? Whom did he meet? Did he mention making any new friends while in London?”
Quinn thought back to that tumultuous week in her life, wishing desperately she didn’t have to relive those awful days. “He arrived in the UK around June twenty-sixth and stayed at the Intercontinental House Hostel near Victoria Station, if I remember correctly. I know he went sightseeing, but I have no idea which sites he visited. We didn’t exactly indulge in a friendly chat. I think he may have met with Jo at some point. Sorry, that’s all I know.”
“Did he rent a car during his stay?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“So, whose car was he driving that night?”
“It had to be a rental car,” Quinn replied.
“Yes, but who rented it?” Drew asked. “If it wasn’t registered in Brett’s name, it’ll be damned hard to connect it to him.”
“Sorry, I don’t know,” Quinn said. “Might he have stolen it?”
Drew shrugged. “Anything is possible, I suppose. And it has been more than two years. Any physical evidence would have been washed away by now.”
“I realize that,” Quinn said. “But what if I could provide you with the registration number of the car that killed Jo?” Quinn asked.
“First, I’d wonder why you hadn’t given this information to the police at the time, and second, I’d want to know how you had come by this useful nugget.”
“Would you believe me if I told you I had an anonymous tip-off a few days ago?” Quinn asked.
“No, I would not, but that’s neither here nor there.”
“I know this is an impossible task.”
“I’ll say. You might as well have asked me to get you the moon.” He suddenly smiled, his gruff expression replaced by one of boyish mischief. “You do keep me on my toes, I’ll give you that,” he said. “Now, that registration number,” he prompted.
Quinn pulled a slip of paper out of her pocket and slid it across the table. Drew unfolded it and took a photo of the number with his phone.
“I’ll see what I can find out.” He drank the remainder of his coffee and set the mug on the table.
“Drew, do you think I’m making a mistake in pursuing this?” Quinn asked.
“What does Gabe think?” Drew asked instead of answering.
“Gabe would have been happier had I let the matter drop,” Quinn replied truthfully. “But he’s supporting me in this.”
Drew looked thoughtful for a moment. “Perhaps you should. This is not a TV program, Quinn; this is real life, and in real life, justice is rarely served. Even if you can prove that Brett Besson did this, the charge will be involuntary manslaughter since no one will be able to prove he did it intentionally. His lawyer will claim that it was an unfortunate accident, and Brett panicked and left the scene of the crime. He’ll get a few years in prison and be out in half the time for good behavior, if he’s smart enough to keep his head down. Or, if his lawyer is really clever, he might get off with nothing more than a slap on the wrist and maybe a couple of hours of community service.”
“So, you think I should let him get away with murder?”
“No, I don’t, but you need airtight evidence to present to the police if you hope to get this case reopened. I don’t know that I can offer you that.”
“Are yo
u willing to try?” Quinn asked.
“You know I like a challenge,” Drew replied, grinning at her. “But I do suggest you keep this under your hat, especially where your father is concerned.”
Quinn nodded. “I won’t say a word.”
She couldn’t begin to imagine what this knowledge would do to Kathy and Seth. Learning that Brett had murdered Jo in cold blood would present them with a moral dilemma they wouldn’t be able to resolve simply by hiring a top-notch lawyer for their son. They had been able to move past what Brett had done to Quinn, labeling it a crime of passion, but this new revelation would finally force them to acknowledge that their son was a danger to society and to make a decision that would change the rest of their lives.
Drew rose laboriously to his feet and winced when he put weight on his damaged leg. He’d been shot in the knee during the course of duty, prompting his early retirement and leading to a career in private investigation and security.
“Damn knee acts up when it rains,” he said gruffly, trying to mask his pain.
“So, every day, then?” Quinn joked.
“If I had the sense I was born with, I’d move to a warmer, sunnier climate, like your folks,” Drew said.
“Marbella has its charms,” Quinn agreed. “But I think you’d be bored out of your mind.”
“You’re probably right. I need to keep busy.”
Quinn handed him the mac, and he shrugged it on. “I’ll be in touch.”
As Quinn returned to the kitchen, Drew’s warning echoed in her head. How she wished Daisy had never come to her. Sometimes ignorance really was bliss.
Chapter 37
For the next few days, Quinn tried valiantly to concentrate on the case Rhys had tasked her with, but all she could think of was Brett, imagining him attending classes, hanging out with his friends, visiting his parents and talking about his life as if he were any normal college kid, not a coldblooded killer. She avoided speaking to Seth for fear of giving something away, letting his calls go to voicemail. Seth was a perceptive man, and he’d hear something in her voice and question her. How could she lie to him and pretend all was well?
She went about in a haze, checking her phone several times every hour to see if there might be a message from Drew. There was none, but Daisy had called, anxious to know if Quinn had acted on the information she’d shared with her. Quinn promised to keep her updated, but that would be the extent of Daisy’s involvement. She meant to do everything in her power to keep Daisy safe. Daisy wasn’t on Brett’s radar, and Quinn would make sure he never learned of her connection to Jo.
“Can you get Alex and Mia to bed?” Quinn asked Gabe a week after she’d met with Drew. “I want to speak to Emma.” Emma had just gone upstairs, having eaten little at dinner.
“Sure,” Gabe said, and lifted Mia out of her highchair. “Come on, guys. Time for your bath.”
Quinn loaded the dishwasher, then headed upstairs, having given Emma enough time to take a shower and change into her pajamas. She found Emma curled up on her bed, her arm around Rufus. The pup whoofed happily when he saw Quinn.
“Get off, Rufus,” Quinn told him, and sat down in the spot he’d reluctantly vacated. She reached out and smoothed Emma’s damp hair away from her face. Emma looked tired and worried. “Em, are you okay?” Quinn asked. “Is everything all right at school?”
Emma nodded.
“Getting along with your friends?” Quinn asked carefully. She knew how quickly kids could go from being the best of friends to not speaking to each other and refusing to sit together at lunch.
“Everything’s fine, Mum,” Emma replied warily.
“Then what’s bothering you? You’ve been awfully quiet these past few days, and you’ve barely touched your dinner.”
“I wasn’t in the mood for chicken.”
“Is there something you’d like me to make for dinner tomorrow?” Quinn asked.
Emma shrugged. “Whatever you want. It doesn’t matter.” Her eyes filled with tears as she met Quinn’s gaze. “Mum, are you ill?” she blurted out.
“What? No. Why would you think that?” Quinn asked, taken by surprise.
“Because I see the way Dad watches you. He’s scared. I can tell,” Emma said quietly. “I’ve seen that look before.”
“You have? When?”
“When we took you to the hospital the night Alex was born, and then when you were pregnant with Mia. When you had high blood pressure,” Emma said, watching Quinn intently.
Quinn sighed. She knew Emma was observant, but she hadn’t realized how much she was internalizing.
“Em, I am absolutely fine. I promise,” Quinn said, stroking Emma’s hair.
Emma’s eyes widened as some thought popped into her head. “Are you going to have another baby?” she demanded.
“No. Were you hoping I was?”
“No. I don’t want you to have any more babies.”
“Really? Why?” Quinn asked. Emma adored Alex and Mia, so her answer was surprising.
“Because you’re always busy. Every time I ask you to help me with something or to take me somewhere, you tell me that Alex has a playdate or it’s time for Mia’s nap, or someone has a doctor’s appointment. If you have another baby, you’ll never have time for me.”
“I’ll always have time for you.”
Emma gave her an accusing look, and Quinn realized, quite guiltily, that she hadn’t spent much one-on-one time with Emma in weeks.
“How about we do something this Saturday? Just you and me. We can go to the cinema or go shopping, if you like.”
“I want to go to the British Museum,” Emma said, surprising Quinn yet again.
“Great. Sure. Was there any particular exhibit you were interested in?”
“I want to see the Egyptian stuff. Do they have a mummy?”
“I think so. I haven’t been in a long while. Why the sudden interest?”
“Miss Spencer told us about Howard Carter and how he discovered King Tut’s tomb. It was interesting,” Emma said, looking a little more animated.
“Are you getting the archeology bug?” Quinn asked, smiling. Emma had expressed her reservations about what her parents did for a living, upset that they often desecrated someone’s final resting place during the course of a dig. It was only natural given that her birth mother, Jenna, had died when Emma was quite small. Emma worried about death more than other children her age, which was understandable, so Quinn and Gabe never dismissed her concerns and assured her that they would always be respectful of the dead.
“No,” Emma said. “I want to be a doctor when I grow up,” she said matter-of-factly, “but I would like to see a sarco—. What is that thing called again?”
“Sarcophagus,” Quinn replied.
“Yes. That. And I’d like to see what an actual mummy looks like. Since I’m not the one digging it up, I think that’s okay,” Emma reasoned.
“All right, then. We will go to the museum on Saturday, followed by lunch at an eatery of your choice. Deal?”
“Deal,” Emma agreed, looking distinctly more cheerful. “I’d like to try something new.”
“Okay. Whatever you want.”
“And maybe we can go shopping after,” Emma said, now in full flow. “I need some new tops for school, and I want new shoes. Two pairs,” she quickly amended.
“You got it. Now, it’s time for bed.”
“I’m going to read for a little while.”
“Don’t stay up too long,” Quinn said, not wanting to ruin a nice moment by being too strict. Emma looked worn out. She’d be out like a light.
Having left Emma and Rufus, Quinn walked into the bedroom and changed into her favorite comfy pajamas. She was tired and upset by her conversation with Emma. She hadn’t realized how much her emotional state pervaded the household and affected the children. She’d have to do a better job of keeping her feelings to herself, she thought, especially since Drew’s inquiries might come to nothing in the end.
“Emma o
kay?” Gabe asked as he came in and sat down next to her on the bed.
“She asked if I’m ill, Gabe,” Quinn said miserably. “She thinks you’re watching me because you’re worried.”
“I am,” Gabe replied. “I just never realized it was that obvious.”
“Emma notices everything. She’s very astute.”
Gabe pulled Quinn close, resting his chin atop her head. “You still haven’t heard from Drew, then?”
“No. He would have rung had he discovered something useful,” Quinn said.
“It takes time. This happened over two years ago.”
“I know. I’m just so—” Quinn couldn’t find the right word for how she was feeling. She was angry, sad, worried, and afraid of what this newfound knowledge would do to her and Gabe, especially if Drew wasn’t able to find anything useful. To live the rest of their lives with the knowledge that Brett had escaped justice would weigh on them in ways she couldn’t imagine, especially when they’d come face to face with Brett sooner or later.
“I know,” Gabe said soothingly. “Me too. And I wish Daisy had never been exposed to any of this. I can’t imagine how difficult this must be for her, especially when she can’t even tell her parents or siblings.”
Quinn sighed. “Being psychic is a lonely business. People rarely take you seriously once you tell them the truth. That’s why I never told my parents, or even Jill. I just didn’t think our relationship would ever be the same.”
“If there was a way to stop the visions, would you do it?” Gabe asked.
Quinn thought about it for a moment. “I’ve been privileged enough to see life as it was in the past, not as the historians or filmmakers would have us believe, and so fortunate to be able to use my ability in conjunction with my chosen profession, but this thing with Brett has made me wish this gift, or curse, had died with Madeline Besson. I would not stop my visions because I have learned to control them, but I very much wish they wouldn’t manifest in future generations. I’m sure Daisy would gladly forego this ability in favor of peace of mind.”
“Yes, I’m sure she would,” Gabe agreed. He gave Quinn a sidelong glance. Someone who didn’t know Gabe well wouldn’t notice the subtle change in his expression or the dipping of his voice, but she was instantly aware of the change in his demeanor, and her heart went out to him.
The Lost (Echoes from the Past Book 9) Page 16