17

“Ready?” Colin leaned toward the doorbell of Parker’s house.

At Mac’s nod, he pressed the chime.

A muffled peal sounded from within.

Thirty silent seconds later, he tried again.

No response.

After exchanging a look with his colleague, he angled away from the door. “It’s possible he’s somewhere on the property. Trish says he has twenty or thirty acres and spends a lot of time maintaining the place.”

“You wouldn’t know that to look at his lawn.”

“I noticed.” Colin surveyed the overgrown front yard. “I expected the grounds to be as meticulous as the books I’m told he keeps. We could take a stroll around back and . . .”

The lock rattled, and he swiveled around as Parker pulled the door open.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. I was in the shower.” He combed his fingers through his damp hair. “Detective Flynn . . . this is a surprise.”

The first of many to come. It would be instructive to see how the accountant responded to their questions.

Colin introduced Mac, who shook hands with the other man.

“If you have a few minutes, we’d like to ask you some questions.”

“Of course.” He pulled the door wider and stepped back. “Come in.”

Colin entered, giving the living room Matt led them to a quick sweep.

The space fit the quiet, unassuming, conservative image Parker projected to the world. An upholstered recliner, positioned in front of a flat-screen TV. A nondescript couch, flanked by matching ceramic lamps. Side chair. A neutral beige carpet, mini blinds rather than drapes, off-white walls bare of ornamentation.

He shifted his gaze to the mantel, where family photos were often displayed. There were none in this house. Only a pair of brass candlesticks and a small Celtic cross occupied the long expanse.

“Make yourselves comfortable. Would you like a soft drink or some water?” Parker claimed the recliner.

“No, thanks.” Colin took the side chair, while Mac sat at the far end of the sofa. The separation would allow each of them to observe the man without being in his direct line of sight while he answered questions from the other.

“What brings you all the way out to my humble abode?”

“A missing person case, for one thing.”

As Mac spoke, Matt’s head swiveled his direction, a slight frown marring his forehead. “Missing person?”

“Yes.” Mac pulled out his notebook. “A woman by the name of Natalie James.”

For one fleeting moment, shock registered in Parker’s eyes. But it was gone so fast Colin would have missed it had he not been homed in on the man’s face.

“Why are you talking to me about her?” Puzzlement scored his words, but a hint of wariness lurked underneath.

“We found your name in her email.”

Parker’s breath hitched, and his fingers tightened on the arm of the chair. “That’s bizarre. In what context?”

“She had a PI run your plates.”

The furrows on his brow deepened, and a muscle flexed in his cheek. “Why would some stranger do that?”

“Was she a stranger?”

“Yes.” Not one iota of hesitation. “I don’t know a Natalie James.”

Mac flipped to another page in his notebook. “Then why don’t you tell us about someone you do know? Craig Elliott.”

The shock wave that flattened his features was impossible to hide. “Is he involved in this missing person situation?”

“We were hoping you could answer that question.”

“I have no idea.” He rose. Rubbed the fading scar on his temple. Paced to the end of the room—and back. “So much for being a good Samaritan.”

“So you do know him?”

“Yes. Well . . . I knew him before he was Craig Elliott. In college he was Jack Adler. We hung out together. Junior year, he disappeared with no explanation—there one day, gone the next. Everyone suspected foul play, but the police never found any evidence to support that theory. Ten days ago, out of the blue, he contacted me and said he needed a place to stay for a few days. Given his history, I should have expected trouble.”

“Is he still here?”

“No. He left on Tuesday.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“No.”

Mac flicked him a glance, and Colin picked up the questioning.

“Where were you on Monday night?”

Matt stopped pacing and swung toward him, hands fisted at his sides, stance wide-legged. “Why?”

“That appears to be the night Natalie went missing.”

“You think I had something to do with that?”

“A friend of hers said Natalie told her she had a date on Monday night with a high-class man named Matt who lived in the country. She said they’d hooked up after meeting in a bar. Your name popped up in her email. That’s a powerful lead.”

“This is absurd!” Matt’s complexion grew ruddy, and his posture stiffened. “I’m not in the habit of frequenting bars. Nor do I pick up women.”

“The evidence would suggest otherwise. I’ll repeat my question. Where were you on Monday night?”

“Working on the property until after dark. Alone.” He exhaled and retook his seat. “But Craig did borrow my car that night—and two or three other times. He said his own car had been stalling a lot and he didn’t want to drive it much until a mechanic gave it a going-over.” He massaged the bridge of his nose. “This . . . what was her name? Natalie? She must have assumed he was me after she had the plates run. What a nightmare.”

Colin exchanged a look with Mac. The story was plausible . . . and he might be willing to give Parker the benefit of the doubt . . . except for the man’s odd behavior at Trish’s house, plus some of the background information he’d discovered.

They needed to keep pushing.

“Why don’t you describe him for us?”

“I’m not good with descriptions. In my job I look at figures, not faces.”

“Try.”

He wiped a hand down his face. “He’s about my height. Dark hair, a little on the long side. Green eyes. He looked to be in pretty good condition.”

“Any distinguishing marks—scars, tattoos, that kind of thing?”

“Not that I noticed.”

That was about as generic a description as you could get.

Colin stifled an annoyed sigh. “Let’s shift gears for a minute. I’m curious about why you gave up a prestigious, fast-track career in international banking to practice small-time accounting.”

Parker’s features hardened. “You’ve been digging into my work history?”

“We leave few stones unturned in an investigation.”

“Why I changed my career plans is a long and personal story that has no bearing on this woman’s disappearance. Look . . . do I need to call a lawyer?”

“That’s an option.” But not one Colin wanted him to choose until they had more information. “At the moment, we’re just asking some casual questions. You’re not under any obligation to answer them—but we would appreciate your cooperation. A woman is missing.”

“Right.” Some of the tension in Parker’s features eased. “I want to help if I can. But Craig would be the one to question.”

“Did you ask why he needed a place to stay?”

“Yes. He didn’t offer much. I got the impression he was trying to put some distance between himself and a sticky situation.”

“So you welcomed a virtual stranger who you suspected might have issues into your home. Wasn’t that risky?” Mac rejoined the conversation.

“He was a college buddy.” Matt shrugged. “I didn’t see how giving him a place to sleep for a few nights was a big deal. I didn’t think he was involved in an illegal activity that would put me at risk.”

“What was your relationship with Lawrence Adams?” Colin picked up the questioning.

At the non sequitur, Parker did a double take. “That’s ancient history.”

“It’s also a simple question. He’s listed as your loving father in his death notice—but the last names don’t match.”

Parker leaned forward, rested his forearms on his thighs, and clasped his hands together. A dozen mute seconds passed before he responded. “He was my foster father—but he treated me like a real son. His death was a terrible blow.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Colin tried for a compassionate tone, but Parker’s grief wasn’t ringing true. While his words were appropriate, his perfunctory inflection conveyed no sadness. “Our research indicates his business was in dire financial straits in the months preceding his death.”

The other man assessed him. “You’ve done your homework.”

“It’s our job. Can you tell us what went wrong?”

“Yes—but I’d prefer not to. It was . . . messy.”

“Were Adams’s money woes the reason you abandoned your career and went home? To help out?”

“The short answer is yes. After he died, I didn’t have the heart for the relentless pace or heavy travel of international finance anymore. And there was nothing left for me in Boston. I decided a fresh start in the Midwest would better suit me going forward.”

So far, Parker had nimbly dodged every question, or come up with a glib answer.

Time to throw him another curve.

“I think we’re about done here . . .” Colin slanted a look at Mac, who dipped his chin. “But I do have one last question. Why did you look in the CSU bag in Trish Bailey’s foyer the day you brought some charitable material for her to review . . . and why did you move that material from the chair to the bag while she was in the kitchen?”

The man’s expression went blank. “What?”

Colin repeated his question.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“She saw you do it.”

Parker exhaled. Unclenched his fingers. “She’s been under so much stress these past two years . . . I worry about her. For the past few weeks she’s been making mistakes, forgetting things . . .” He shook his head. “All I can tell you is that whatever she thought she saw isn’t reality. I do remember straightening the bag as I walked to the front door, but that was it.”

This guy was a champion dodge-ball player.

“Okay. Thanks for your time.” Mac stood, retrieved a card, and held it out. “We’ll be back in touch if we have any additional questions—and if you hear from Elliott again, we’d appreciate a call.”

“Of course.” The man pocketed the card.

Colin rose, added his thanks, and followed Mac out the door.

Only after he put the car in gear and they were driving down the gravel road did he speak. “Either Parker is innocent, or that was a very smooth performance.”

“I vote for the latter.” Mac slipped on a pair of dark shades. “My gut tells me he was making a lot of that up on the fly as we tossed out questions.”

“The factual parts are easy to verify. His relationship with Elliott, and what happened on the night in question, are going to be tougher to crack.”

“What did you think of his response to your question about the CSU bag?”

“That he’s lying. Trish has been under a lot of strain, and she is carrying an enormous load of grief, but her faculties are sharp. Besides, it’s too coincidental that all of her so-called mental lapses have occurred in situations involving Parker.”

“So where do we go from here?”

“I think you should continue to search for Elliott while I fact-check what Parker told us.”

“I’m on board with that, since I think Elliott’s got the answers I need about Natalie’s disappearance.”

“Good luck tracking him down.”

Mac snorted. “Given that he eluded the Russian Mafia, I’ll need it.”

“Now that his credit card has been used, they may find him for you.”

“If they do, I may never know it.”

True. If the Mafia got to Elliott first, there might not be much left to find once they were finished.

“Do you think we should have mentioned to Parker that his friend was involved with organized crime?”

“We threw enough at him for one day—and I’m not sure what that would have accomplished. I’m more of a tell-them-only-what-they-need-to-know kind of guy.”

“Okay. Let’s go our separate ways once we get back and text each other if we find anything relevant.” Colin swung out onto the main road, accelerating once he hit the paved surface.

“Works for me.”

Mac pulled out his cell to scroll through messages, giving Colin a chance to run their meeting with Parker through his mind again. They’d taken the man by surprise with both their visit and their questions, no doubt about it. He’d played it as cool as he could, but based on a few subtle cues, they’d thrown him off balance. That, in itself, was a positive outcome.

People who were flustered often got nervous.

And a nervous person was more liable to make a mistake that could help them unravel the tangled knots of a case that kept getting more and more complicated.

Craig slammed down the lid of the laptop on the deck, startling a nearby robin into panicked flight.

What a mess.

All because he’d gone out looking for a night or two of much-deserved fun.

Now the police were nosing around.

He snatched up the laptop and stalked inside, shoving the sliding door shut behind him. Why had he believed Natalie’s claim that she hadn’t told anyone about their liaison? A woman who’d drug her date for the evening to get his ID was devious—and high risk.

Now what?

He ditched the laptop on the counter and went in search of the Scotch. After emptying the inch Natalie had left him into a glass, he took a long swallow, letting the alcohol burn down his throat as he transitioned to analytical mode.

He’d listened to every word the cops had said to Matt, his mind evaluating at warp speed. As far as he could see, there were no holes in the story he’d told them. Acting dumb had been the logical way to play this. It was credible—and if Trish hadn’t witnessed that little maneuver in her foyer, the two detectives probably would have bought it and focused on finding Craig Elliott.

A lost cause that would have left them spinning their wheels.

Craig Elliott had dropped off the radar four months ago, never to reappear. They would find no trace of him since February. Their investigation would go nowhere.

Plus, given Natalie’s estrangement from her family, there wouldn’t be any relatives pushing for closure. The police would give her disappearance some initial attention, but with the caseload detectives carried these days, it would drop down the priority list fast if no new leads surfaced.

And they wouldn’t. He’d touched nothing directly in Natalie’s place other than her—and the glasses he’d used, which he’d washed. If they looked hard enough, there was a remote chance they might find a hair for DNA matching—but if that happened, he had another ace up his sleeve. While it wasn’t a card he wanted to play, it was always helpful to have options.

He took a sip of his Scotch, his nerves quieting. There was nothing to worry about. If, by some remote chance, the situation started to go south, he had excellent new documents waiting in the bedroom for the person he’d become after he’d diverted sufficient foundation money to his offshore account and was ready to exchange this backwater dump for more lavish digs in a sunny tropical locale. He’d had plenty of time since moving in here to arrange for those. If he had to use them sooner than expected, he would.

But most likely that wouldn’t be necessary. This glitch would blow over soon enough. The search for Natalie would grow cold, and the detectives would put it on the back burner to deal with newer cases.

He tipped the glass against his lips and finished off the Scotch.

Matt had done well this afternoon. Despite everything the cops had thrown at him, he’d kept his head, stayed the course, and done an excellent job deflecting suspicion.

Exhaling, he set his empty glass near the sink, wandered over to the window that offered a view into the woods, and rotated the kinks out of his shoulders.

He was safe.

If the cops came back, Craig Elliott would disappear again—and the only other people who had an interest in the man were far away in Miami. Dmitri and his crew had no idea where he’d gone. Matt’s home in the middle of a forest might not be much to look at, but it had given him great cover.

And he’d continue to use it until he was ready to walk away a rich man . . . leaving no regrets behind.