Frank accepted the uncertainty. Farhan wasn’t being evasive. He simply didn’t know what Caitlin was after. And why would a sheltered kid like him suspect drugs? Intellectually, Farhan was very advanced, but socially, he was innocent, unworldly. “Okay. And how did you and Caitlin leave matters after you sent the message?” Frank continued.
“That was the last time I saw her. Two days later we realized she was gone.” Farhan’s voice dropped to a whisper. “And then she got murdered.”
“Why didn’t you tell us this sooner?” Sanjiv grabbed handfuls of his thick hair and rocked back and forth in his chair.
“You’ve always told me to be loyal to my friends,” Farhan said.
“This girl was not your friend,” Sanjiv shouted. “And I never said to lie to the police!”
“I didn’t lie.” Farhan’s dark eyes flashed. “The police never asked me.”
AFTER THE INTERVIEW, Frank sent Farhan and Sanjiv to the reception area to wait while he and Meyerson analyzed what had transpired. The air in the interview room smelled stale with the combined anxieties of the four participants.
“You think he’s telling us everything?” Meyerson asked Frank.
“I do. He’s a good kid.”
Meyerson paced across the small conference room while Frank stayed seated.
“Seems like Caitlin tested the boy with the first task. He passed, kept her secret, so she moved in for the big request,” Meyerson said.
Frank steepled his fingers. “I think you’re right. She wasn’t impulsive in her actions.”
“And the terms she was agreeing to? Has to be some deal she was making to get drugs.”
Frank answered slowly as he worked through his own conjectures. “We know she was an addict who had several relapses, so the obvious conclusion was that Caitlin was negotiating for a fix.” Frank sank back into silence.
“You don’t think the obvious answer is correct?” Meyerson challenged Frank with a frown. “No one asks to send an untraceable message to their grandma. She wanted to contact her dealer.”
“I’m concerned about the timing. She got a note from Kendall that scared her. The next day, she launches this plan to get Farhan’s help. She wanted to contact someone about something related to illegal activity, I’ll grant you that,” Frank admitted. “But I’m not so sure she was chasing a fix. She was gone four days before she died, and her body had no trace of drugs. Besides, desperate junkies aren’t known for their long-range planning skills.”
“Every junkie I’ve ever met is devious and conniving,” Meyerson shot back.
“Yes, they’ll lie and manipulate to get what they want, but it’s always in the moment. Caitlin seems to have laid her plan and cautiously put it into play. That’s not the action of a desperate addict.”
“She’d been clean for weeks. So yeah, she wasn’t scrambling to avoid withdrawal,” Meyerson admitted. “She simply wanted to get high.”
Frank changed the subject. “Have you followed up with Kendall?”
Meyerson frowned. “He’s in Seattle on a business trip. Between being in meetings and the time change, he and my officer have been playing phone tag.”
Frank saw no point in continuing to argue about Caitlin’s hypothetical motivations when such an important lead was still unresolved. A quest for drugs might well have taken her to Mallard Lake. He just wanted to stay open to other possibilities. “Okay—let’s say she was contacting her dealer. The one back in Albany? How would that interaction cause her to end up in Mallard Lake?”
“Maybe her guy in Albany gave her a High Peaks connection before she left for exile,” Meyerson offered.
“If she had the contact all along, why wait so long to reach out?” For Frank the questions were simply brainstorming, a way to force himself to think outside the box. But of course, Meyerson took them as a challenge to his authority.
The lieutenant stormed toward the door. “This is all mere speculation. Our first step is to get the computer forensics team over to the motel to try to uncover that message.”
Frank sighed as he followed Meyerson out of the room. “Better hope they’re smarter than a 13 year old.”
Chapter 29
“Frank?”
Penny’s voice was low and furtive. Frank pressed his phone closer to his ear to block the sound of Earl’s typing.
“I can barely hear you. What’s wrong?”
“I’m at The Store. I came over here to get something for our dinner recipe, and while I was gone, Desmond Hale showed up at the library asking for me. Ruth Blalock was the volunteer at the front desk, and when she told him I was out, he started asking her a lot of questions. And you know Ruth has a suspicious nature anyway, so she played dumb and said she didn’t know where I’d gone or when I’d be back. Then Desmond said he’d wait for me and walked into the stacks. And Ruth texted me to ask what to do. Now I’m dreading going back to the library. I really don’t want to talk to that man.”
Frank looked out the window and saw Desmond’s fancy SUV parked in front of the library. “You want me to go over and get rid of him?”
“What can you say?” Penny stage whispered. “Won’t that look odd that you’re suddenly showing up when he’s waiting for me?”
Frank made a face that he was glad his wife couldn’t see. It was just like Penny to not want to hurt the feelings even of someone she disliked intensely. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what he thinks. I’ll tell him I noticed his car and thought he should know you were gone for the day.”
“He’ll know you’re lying. What if he comes looking for me? He’ll check The Store and the diner.”
“Go out the back door of The Store and slip over to the church. Hang out in Bob’s office for a while. Desmond won’t look for you there.”
After giving his wife a head start, Frank strolled across the green to the library. Ruth sat at the front desk guarding the place with the vigilance of a Green Beret. He winked at her to let her know he understood the situation. “Ruth,” Frank spoke loudly enough for his voice to carry into the stacks, “Penny wants you to know her dentist appointment didn’t go so well. She’s heading home and wants to know if you can manage here by yourself, or if you want to lock up early and leave.” Frank jerked his head toward the door to convey that the latter option was the correct choice.
“Oh...oh,” Ruth floundered. “I, uh, I guess I’d better lock up. My husband is expecting me home before five.”
Their charade had the desired effect. Desmond Hale emerged from the stacks. “Hello, Frank,” he extended his hand to shake. “Your lovely wife is not feeling well?”
Frank resisted the urge to crush Desmond’s fingers. “Penny thought she just needed a filling, but it turned into a root canal. She’s gone home to rest.” He looked Desmond up and down. “Did you need some reading material to get through the weekend?”
Desmond responded with a slight smile that seemed to indicate he was in on the sham. “I have to go to Lake Placid later today. I stopped by here to talk to both of you. But if Penny isn’t available, I’ll begin with you. Do you have a free moment?”
“Sure,” Frank said. “My office or the diner?”
“Oh, this isn’t official business,” Desmond replied. “I think the diner is best.”
Frank guided Desmond out of the library, leaving a perplexed Ruth behind. He figured the volunteer could text Penny for further instructions while he found out what Desmond was up to.
Desmond made no effort at small talk on the way to the diner, so Frank walked in silence as well. It wasn’t until Marge had left them with coffee and pie in the corner booth of the empty diner that Desmond finally began talking. “This...incident...with the young woman, Caitlin—” Desmond ran his fingers through his hair, which had grown longer since Frank had last seen the man. “It’s been very distressing. I thought the disruption would be over in a day or two, but the state police keep showing up at my door, tramping through my woods, motoring past my dock.” Desmond’s tone grew st
eadily more outraged as he waited for some sympathetic response.
Frank didn’t oblige. “It’s a murder investigation.”
“Yes, but it has nothing to do with me. When my sons and I come to The Balsams, we want total peace and tranquility.”
“Mmmm. I’m surprised your sons are so enthusiastic about tranquility. Isn’t it unusual for guys in their twenties to live without phone and internet for months?”
“Keith is preparing for Harvard—”
“Yeah, right—law school. But what about Justin? What does he do with himself all day? Other than irritate his brother.”
“Justin is exploring his options. He hasn’t found his passion yet. This summer is a great time for him to reflect, which he can’t do with the police disturbing us every day. This is not what we expected.”
Ah, the quest for the elusive passion! Only people with no bills to pay could go on that journey. Frank dumped two sugars into his coffee. “I daresay Caitlin Lupton’s expectations for her visit to Mallard Lake were also disappointed.”
Anger flashed across Desmond Hale’s face, but he repressed it quickly. “I didn’t mean to sound callous. Of course, this young woman’s death is a terrible tragedy. But if the state police want to get to the bottom of what happened, they should be looking in the right place, wouldn’t you agree?”
“The state police don’t require my agreement. They’ll conduct their investigation as they see fit.” Frank found himself in the unfamiliar position of defending Meyerson.
“But you have a stake in this investigation, no?” Desmond leaned across the table. “You had met this young woman. She stayed at your friend’s motel.”
“I care about finding her killer. That’s why I’m committed to letting the state police do their job.”
“But you’ve been following up some angles that they overlooked.” Desmond looked at Frank over the rim of his coffee cup.
Frank felt his shoulders tense. How could Desmond know about his conversations with the woman from the string festival and Kendall? “What makes you say that?”
“I may not live in the Adirondacks year-round, but my family has roots here going back three generations. I know people.”
But who would he know that was aware of Frank’s role in the Lupton investigation? Someone connected to Earl? Or someone connected to the state police? Maybe that was it.
Desmond cut off the tip of his wedge of pie, keeping his eyes focused on this surgery. “What if I told you I have evidence Caitlin was visiting a guest of my neighbors, the Etheridges?”
“I’d tell you to hand it over to the state police.” Frank spoke without hesitation even as he tried to figure out where Desmond was heading with this.
“Dammit! I have!” Desmond’s spoon skittered off the table. Marge looked up from polishing the counter and frowned.
Frank reached behind the booth and grabbed a replacement from the waitress station, forestalling a visit from the diner owner. The gesture gave him time to consider why Desmond might be trying to direct blame toward the Etheridges. He wanted to know more, but was careful not to display much interest. “If you’ve told them about it, I’m confident they followed up. Maybe your lead didn’t pan out.”
“They’re idiots,” Desmond hissed. “Bumbling bureaucrats who can’t make connections. C’mon, man—you know I’m right.”
Frank had, of course, lobbed the same insults when he complained to Earl about Meyerson. But just as family members might complain about one another in private but defend one another from outsiders, so the fraternity of law enforcement officers would close ranks against criticism from a civilian.
Especially one as arrogant as Desmond Hale.
But again Frank wondered how Desmond knew he had a contentious relationship with the state police.
“Did you share your concerns with the lead investigator, Lt. Meyerson, or with one of his team members?” Frank asked.
“I don’t remember the cop’s name, but he definitely wasn’t the boss. Just some underling.”
Frank suspected Desmond wanted to sow chaos in the investigation, and he wanted no part of helping him. But he saw a way to actually score a few points with Meyerson, which could come in handy. “I’ll give you Lt. Meyerson’s direct number, and I’ll let him know to expect your call. That way, you can be sure your information won’t be overlooked.”
The two men pulled out their phones and exchanged contact information. Then Frank leaned back in the booth and sent Lew a quick text. Expect a call from Desmond Hale. He’s up to something. Talk later.
Desmond tossed a twenty on the table and rose to leave.
“What did you want to discuss with Penny?” Frank asked as he drained his coffee cup.
Desmond looked over Frank’s head to the peaceful scene outside. “Penny’s insistence that she heard a woman’s voice in the house the night before the storm has been very misleading to the police.”
“In my experience, the truth is never misleading.”
A vein throbbed in Desmond’s temple. “Impressions can be misleading. Penny admits she woke up from a dream thinking she heard something. She was tired, overwrought after what happened with you rescuing Keith. I just want her to make it clear to the state police that she can’t be absolutely certain about what she heard.”
“Penny told them exactly what she intended to tell them. She has no more to say.” Frank slid out of the booth and headed to the door ahead of Desmond.
“Tell Penny I want to talk to her. She should make this decision herself, not through you,” Desmond said to Frank’s back.
Frank spun around. “Why? You want to bribe her with another donation to change her story?”
“Don’t be so crass.” Desmond flicked his hair back from his forehead. “There are ramifications to every life decision we each make. Penny should understand hers.”
“Penny understands ethics very well.” Frank left the diner and headed toward the office. He heard Desmond’s angry footsteps striding toward the SUV he’d left in front of the library.
“Hey, wait,” Marge called after them. “I owe you some change.”
But neither man turned.
Chapter 30
Frank took the afternoon patrol to give himself some time to calm down from his encounter with Desmond Hale. As he made the loop from the green, past the lumberyard, out to the Trail’s End, and over toward the Mountain Vista, he dissected the conversation with Desmond Hale. Could the man really be so blatantly manipulative? Surely, he knew better than to openly bribe a witness. And did Desmond honestly believe he could pin Caitlin’s murder on his neighbors just by feeding Frank a false theory?
The clumsiness of Desmond’s efforts made Frank suspicious. Maybe their encounter at the diner was some sort of elaborate double-cross.
But most crimes weren’t carried out as part of some complicated conspiracy.
Rich, successful people often thought they could do as they pleased.
And even smart people made stupid criminals.
So who was Desmond trying to protect? It seemed increasingly likely that one of his sons was involved with Caitlin. Desmond said that he and his sons came to The Balsams for total peace and tranquility. But how many young men wanted that? Keith claimed to be prepping for law school. But Justin’s reasons for escape still seemed nebulous. Surely the boys wanted to hang out with friends, go to parties and bars.
Hook up with girls.
Where there were rich men, there were usually beautiful women.
Caitlin was closer in age to the sons, but a liaison with the father wasn’t out of the question.
One of them must have known Caitlin from before she arrived at the Mountain Vista. Maybe from her time at art school. Maybe from her presence on the drug scene. Could Justin have a drug problem? Was Desmond doing with his son what Kendall had done with Caitlin—using rural seclusion to break a drug habit?
Even though Frank’s brain was busy with what was going on at The Balsams, his eyes were still
focused on what was happening right before him on the road. When a car rolled through a stop sign and peeled onto Rt 86 speeding in the opposite direction, Frank turned around and switched on his lights. A BMW from Connecticut—a tourist who couldn’t lose his big-city hurry ways.
Frank might have let the guy off with a warning, except he started blustering and cajoling before he even handed over his license and registration. Frank checked his license and saw six points. Well, now he had eight.
Writing the ticket took some of the edge off Frank’s rage at Desmond Hale. And his pursuit of the speeder re-oriented the direction of his afternoon patrol toward Verona. Why not drive toward the dock and see if he could spot the garage where Desmond Hale kept his SUV? Desmond presumably was miles away in Lake Placid right now. It couldn’t be that hard to find a house within walking distance of the dock that had a garage big enough to hold Desmond’s huge luxury gas-guzzler. Frank couldn’t imagine Desmond being willing to walk more than a mile to get from the car to the dock especially since he might be carrying packages and there were no sidewalks. That meant there were only three possible houses between the village of Verona and the dock. Frank cruised by them. One had no garage at all, and a large array of vehicles in various states of decrepitude parked outside. The next had a tiny detached garage, and the many fanciful lawn ornaments and garden gnomes seemed to indicate female ownership. Desmond had specifically said he rented from a man. The third house, closest to the dock, looked very promising. It had an attached, three-bay garage with one door open, revealing an empty slot. A man trimmed hedges in the yard.
Frank pulled into the driveway, and the homeowner waved cheerfully and came right up to the patrol vehicle. Like most people in Trout Run or Verona who had no criminal association, he regarded the police with friendliness and appreciation. Frank got out and greeted the man with some praise for the fine weather and his lush garden. Then he pointed at the garage. “Do you by any chance rent garage space to Desmond Hale of The Balsams?”
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