From there, he went to the garage where they’d towed Frank’s Element. He flashed his shield and was taken back to the vehicle. It was totaled, but hopefully had done its job. The damage further fleshed out the story. The sunken roof – he fucking rolled it – to the crumpled metalwork where it had slammed into the boulder. To the deeply dented passenger side with wood from the telephone pole embedded in the trim.
The agents told him about the attack by his mother at Grace’s house. Candace Garfield had still not been found and Grace Lewis had vanished. They’d been to her home, said it looked like she’d left in a hurry.
He thanked the agents and went to Grace’s rental. The front door was unlocked. ‘Anyone home?’ Hope surged, but no answer. He went in. Grace’s laptop lay open on the kitchen table. The screen had gone black. He hit enter and was met with a password and username page. He thought of Grace, and figured it’s not the type of thing he could do fast. He called his IT guy back in Brookline. ‘Hey Gabe, anyway I can find the time someone last logged on even if the device is password protected?’
‘Sure.’
He followed the instructions and saw she’d last keystroked at 1:02 p.m.
‘If you’ve got time I can get you past the password,’ Gabe said.
Sean paused, ‘I don’t. But thanks.’
He went out front and searched for traces of the assault. It was a gravel drive and there wasn’t much … just a filthy pink hospital sock with rubber treads. He took a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree survey of his surroundings. The attack could have gone unnoticed, a thick hedge to his left, woods to his right, the house at his back, and a single across-the-street neighbor, with a closed three-door garage and no one at home … probably. He walked across and knocked on the front door.
He waited, rang the bell, and knocked again.
He heard footsteps. ‘Police.’ He pulled out his shield and held it up.
A door cracked open and a teenage boy peered out from the shadows. ‘Not from Litchfield.’
‘No, Brookline Massachusetts,’ Sean said.
The door didn’t open further. ‘So, what are you doing here?’
Looking for my boyfriend. ‘Investigating a murder and a possible attempted homicide that’s connected.’
‘You mean the crazy lady that tried to kill the guy yesterday?’
‘Yes, you saw it?’
‘Just the end. I called the cops.’
‘What did you see?’ Sean asked.
‘Lady, with long black-and-white hair, big knife, hospital clothes with those funny slippers. It seemed fake. Like my first thought was they were practicing a play or making a video or something.’
‘Then why’d you make the call.’
‘It got real. I mean she went for blood. The dude, tall, dark-haired … they obviously knew each other but I couldn’t hear. Especially not at first cause I had my headset on.’
‘What time of day?’ Sean asked.
The teen hesitated. ‘Maybe one. Maybe a little later.’
‘Was anyone else home? Did anyone else see anything?’
‘No, both my parents work. I told them about it. Made them nervous. Told me not to open the door to strangers … like it’s something I would do. But you’re a cop, so that’s different.’
‘Right. What else did you see?’
‘After she went for him, I called. I was freaking out. When I came back I saw them running.’ He opened the door further and joined Sean on the stoop. He pointed. ‘They went that way. It was scary, but he was a lot faster. She stopped by Barnes Road. I guess she figured she wasn’t going to catch him. I told the cops all this. But I kept wondering where she went. Did they find her?’
‘No, and you’re right to keep the door locked.’
‘That’s fucking sad,’ the kid said.
‘It is.’ Sean looked at the boy, figured his age about thirteen with the first wisps of down on his cheeks, which he’d fashioned into something like sideburns, but not quite. ‘Anything else you remember, anything at all? So the guy, Doctor Garfield, he kept running. He didn’t have a car?’
‘I don’t know. There was one in the driveway. A black GMC. When I came back it was gone and there were cops all over the place. Maybe he took it. I don’t know.’
‘What about the woman renting the place. Did you see her?’
‘The little blonde lady with the ponytail. She’s cute.’
‘She is. Dr Lewis.’
‘She told me to call her Grace. But I haven’t seen her. She OK?’
Sean paused. ‘I don’t know. I’ve been trying to reach her.’ He pulled out a card. ‘If you see her, tell her to call me.’
‘Will do … although—’
‘Yes?’
‘I did see her yesterday, like right before all of this happened. I wanted to go over after, but there were cops all over the place and I figured I’d just be in the way.’
‘What was she doing?’
‘She was with some guy. About your height, dark hair … looked familiar somehow, like someone you see on TV. You know, one of those perfect people.’
‘What kind of car?’
‘BMW five series, black, with the sparkles in the paint. At least a hundred grand.’
‘She went with him?’
‘I guess, I was peeing.’ He motioned to a window that overlooked the front of the house. ‘And that one’s my bedroom,’ pointing to another three windows down.
‘But the BMW was gone when the attack happened.’
‘Yup, just the GMC.’
Sean mulled the new information. The perfect man in the BMW had to be Dalton and the timing, if the kid was accurate, was too close for a coincidence. What was/is Dalton doing with Grace? Did he have something to do with the attack? Or everything … did he orchestrate Candace Garfield’s escape?
‘This has been helpful. You got a name?’
‘Carlton Grainger. Am I in trouble or anything?’
‘Not at all.’
‘The guy, is he OK?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘Shit … and the crazy lady is still out there. Stuff like this isn’t supposed to happen here. That’s what my mom says.’
‘She’s right, but sometimes it does.’
From there, Sean had pieced what came next. Frank retrieved the SUV, was stopped by the cops, and returned to Hollow Hills. Which if he still was in possession of his cell, is where it placed him on the GPS. Why here? Why not his place? Because he’s not calling the shots. The Langs are.
All of which brought him to his current impasse. Sucking down cold coffee, watching what might have been a romantic sunrise with vivid colors on a cloud-dark sky, and agonizing over his next move. He’d mull one idea, shoot holes in it, and move on to the next. Hours passed, and through binoculars he followed the action at Hollow Hills. Families and kids asleep on cots in the atrium. Frank’s laboratory obscured by a trick of the glass. But he’s in there … or at least his cell is. And why doesn’t he answer? Because he can’t … or won’t.
A movement in the woods startled him. His first thought was it had to be an animal … a big one. A bear? Or. An idea formed, he knew it wasn’t necessarily a good one. But the FBI were on a manhunt for Candace Garfield, what would be so bad about …
He pulled out the business card he’d been given over the good burgers. He called.
‘Hey Derrick, it’s Sean Brody … yeah, I know it’s early. Any luck with the Candace Garfield hunt and peck?’
‘Leads, some good, some pure crap. You got something?’ the agent asked.
‘Yeah, and I hope it’s not crap, but something’s happening at UNICO.’
‘Seriously? That place is sealed tight.’
‘So was the forensic hospital she AWOL’ed from.’
‘Thanks for the info. We’ll check it out. What are you doing?’
‘Chasing down my own loose ends.’
‘The professor homicide?’
‘Yeah.’ He again heard running in the woo
ds. What if it is her? He unsnapped his holster. ‘I got to go.’ He hung up, and with his service revolver drawn he cracked open the door and got out.
‘Who’s there?’
Whatever, or whoever, it was changed directions and fled deeper into the woods.
Sean pursued as a first bolt of lightning cracked the sky and rain started to fall.
THIRTY-SEVEN
‘What’s wrong?’ Jen wheezed.
Frank glanced from her to her mother, who had moved to the distant end of the room where she watched the others down in the atrium. What’s not? he thought. He moved the gooseneck lamp closer to Jen’s tiny arm, and searched it back and front for a usable vein.
‘Don’t lie to a dying woman,’ she said.
‘You wouldn’t understand.’ I don’t understand. Leona Lang stole your dose. Why? And where is she?
‘Try me.’
He looked up from his gloved hand, which wielded a tiny butterfly needle, smaller than he would have liked, but probably the best he’d be able to get in. ‘You sure you’re only six?’ His fingers trembled.
‘I know, but you’re not OK, Doctor Frank. You’re tired and worried. Where’s Doctor Grace?’
‘She couldn’t come,’ he lied, and steadied one hand with the other.
‘I don’t believe you. Did you have a fight?’
‘She’s not my girlfriend.’
‘I know that. You have Sean. He’s your boyfriend and a police detective … and super cute.’ She wheezed and struggled not to cough. ‘Where is she? She should be here.’
‘I don’t know,’ he admitted, as he tightened the tourniquet around her wrist. ‘Hold still, you’re going to feel a pinch.’ He held his breath and pierced the skin between her second and third fingers. He loosened the tourniquet, taped down the needle and hooked it to the IV tubing. He started the infusion pump and watched.
‘Is it good?’ she asked.
‘Yeah. But hold as still as you can.’
‘How come I get a second dose?’
‘Cause you’re special.’
‘When did you start lying so much?’
He didn’t answer. The truth was too awful. A dying child’s life-saving medication had been stolen. If he were to even say such a thing, what would happen? How far would the Langs go? Would they kill? Had they?
‘Something was wrong with mine, wasn’t it? Everyone’s getting better but me.’
His cell buzzed. He glanced at the screen. ‘I’ve got to take this, I’ll be right back.’ He felt his heart pound as he moved to a distant corner of the room. He lowered his voice. ‘Hello?’
‘Good work.’ It was Dalton.
‘Nice impersonation of your mother.’
‘It’s a talent. I have many.’
‘Where’s Grace?’
‘Yes, you kept your end of the bargain. I should do the same.’
Frank waited. His inner alarm told him to do nothing that Dalton said … and if it were just me.
Marnie Owens moved over to Jen. She stroked her daughter’s cheek and sang softly.
‘Where is she?’ Frank asked.
‘And we’re certain what you just gave Jen is the good stuff.’
‘Yes. Your mother admitted she stole her original dose. Why?’
‘You haven’t seen her lately. Have you?’
‘No.’
‘One look and you’ll have your answer. It shaved off fifteen years, maybe twenty. Your comment at the Taj about a face-lift for cells was prescient. You, good doctor, have turned back the hands of time.’
‘Stop stalling,’ Frank said. ‘Please, where is she?’
‘There is a problem.’
‘If you’ve done anything to hurt her …’ Panic surged.
‘Frank, threats are not your forte. They’re also not a good idea, especially when I’m trying to work on a happily ever after.’
‘Dalton, you and your mother have what you want. Just tell me where she is, and we’ll chalk this up to—’
‘Good man. Because while threats don’t become you, they are an essential part of mother and me. You know, or at least suspect, our capabilities. Should you, or Grace, or your handsome detective break ranks it would be tragic.’
‘Understood.’ He didn’t believe a word, other than that the peril was real and imminent. ‘Her location.’
‘Yes, fine, and remember that everything you do, everything she does, we see. Now, in four hours, after the infusion is complete, tell the guards you need to go someplace. I’ll make sure they let you. You’ll take a company car, get on 202 and head north towards Torrington. You’ve been there. It’s a barn back in the woods.’
‘By the Shepaug. We hiked there.’
‘Yes.’
Frank shuddered as he again realized how closely he’d been watched.
‘There’s a dirt access road on the right, it’s within a mile of where you flipped your car. If you hit Fern Avenue, you’ve gone too far. And Frank, not to be a cliché, go alone. If you don’t, I’ll know, she’ll be dead, and it will be your fault.’
THIRTY-EIGHT
Dalton hung up.
‘Well done,’ Leona said. ‘And you’ll mop up the mess?’
‘Of course. Frank is predictable. It’s always about others.’
‘Yes, not like you and me.’
‘True.’ He caught their reflections in a large mirror. It startled him. ‘We look like brother and sister now.’ He walked in closer, observing the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes. Those weren’t always there. I’m only twenty-eight. Half-formed thoughts needled him. She said I’ll get what I want … said she’ll put me in ads … an anthem. Is it already too late? And look at her.
‘We do look good.’ She stood beside him. ‘We’ll get you dosed as soon as we’ve settled the mess.’ As if reading his mind, she added, ‘Best not wait.’
‘You wouldn’t consider keeping Frank around. There’s still bits we’re not clear on. Like is this a one-time thing or not?’
‘True. But as you said, he’s predictable. What I predict, is not in our interest. Besides, his telomere formula is the logical extension of work I started thirty years ago.’ She put a hand to her cheek. ‘If I’d known then where it could lead … I might have stayed with Jackson. Though Frank’s sugar coating … inspired, elegant. If there were any reason to keep him around it would be to see what else he might discover. He is truly brilliant, and that’s rare.’
‘Did you kill Lionel?’ Dalton blurted.
‘I never meant for you to see that,’ she said, by way of an answer. ‘Did you kill Jackson?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why? I didn’t tell you to.’
And while she’d nearly convinced him that he’d get what he’d want, he knew by the tension in her jaw that he’d gone off script and it pissed her off. ‘Necessity. Frank was frozen with indecision. It was painful to watch him, day after day. Do I go left? Do I go right? Do I have the ham sandwich or the BLT?’
‘You could have asked me.’
‘Yes.’ He faced her. ‘And I didn’t. That a problem?’
She shrugged. ‘Water under the bridge, and in hindsight a good move. But we’re done with that … correct?’
‘Of course,’ he parroted her words. ‘From now on we both get what we want.’ He thought to tell her that he knew Jackson was his biological father, but held his tongue.
‘Yes.’
‘I should get going,’ he said. A lyric formed, Places to go and people to kill. He grabbed his valise, and headed out. A good title. He imagined the music, suitable for a James Bond film, heavy on the strings and the brass. I’ve got the voice for it.
‘Good luck,’ she said. ‘There’s a new world for you and I on the other side.’
‘Thanks.’ And off we go to fight Mother’s battles. Stay on script. Don’t diverge. What Leona wants Leona gets. Places to go and people to kill. As he walked to his car he mulled over the moving pieces. Like chessmen on a board, Leona the red queen, Frank the
white knight, himself the queen’s bishop, the six children and their parents rows of pawns. He drove past the manor home that housed Merryvale’s five-star restaurant and turned onto 202. He felt jazzed, but bothered. He replayed the everyone-gets-what-they-want conversation with Mother. It sounded good. Maybe for a second he believed her, but she would never change. Not for him, not for anyone. Maybe she’d give him a dose, but she could just as easily … poison me. She killed Lionel … who was not my father.
Rattled, he mulled the options as he took the right onto the dirt access road. Movement in the woods caught his attention. He slowed as the car bounced over deep ruts and tangled roots. An animal, he thought. Probably a deer.
He rolled down his window and breathed the woodsy smells. ‘She can’t be trusted,’ he said aloud. She’ll be the only one left with Frank’s formula. Unless … He’d come intent on killing Grace and Frank. It would be a terrible accident. But thinking about Frank dead, hurt. It was unwanted and unexpected. I like the guy. But it went deeper. What if he didn’t have to die? What if?
He pulled up outside the barn. He knew Grace would still be unconscious. And while killing never bothered him, he didn’t like to make anyone suffer. Best if she never wakes. The sedative he’d given her, a UNICO special, so special that it had never been brought to market, broke down into common molecules. It would be undetectable at autopsy. If there was even much of a body left; fire is unpredictable. But beautiful.
He popped the hood and grabbed a sealed, and badly rusted, coffee can. It was filled with linseed oil. A bit of the sappy aromatic fluid clung to his fingers. The pine scent reminded him of junior high woodshop and turning wooden bowls on a lathe, which he gave to Grandma Karen, because Leona thought them childish and not good enough to put out.
He entered the barn and listened. A breeze through the trees, mice burrowing in bales of dry hay, and silence from below. So much kindling, he thought, excitement surged. The fire will be spectacular.
He squatted on an upturned feed bucket and stared back through the open bay door. It was a solid plan, people got trapped and died in fires all the time. It would look like she’d had an accident and fallen into the root cellar. He thought about going down and breaking her wrists as though she’d tried to brace her fall. He decided against it as the pain might wake her. The bruise from where he’d cold cocked her would give credence to the story. Death by misadventure. The fire would start from some rags, bad luck and amazing they hadn’t ignited years earlier when they’d been forgotten in a corner of the barn by the previous owner.
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