CHAPTER TWELVE
Paige hadn’t spoken another word since she’d asked about the postcard. Sam reminded himself that she was not an experienced agent, but he didn’t think the sight of the body had thrown her. As far as dead bodies went, Paige had seen others in far worse condition during the Thames investigation. He didn’t think whatever was on her mind had anything to do with the way they’d left things between them. No, this was something else. Now, though, wasn’t the time to ask her about it. Now, they had a witness to interview.
An ambulance was parked on the grass. A man with a shaved head and a hoop earring sat on the tailgate with an oxygen mask over his face and his head between his knees. A bike was propped against a picnic table nearby. The front tire was flat. The chrome rim bent and twisted. A puddle a short distance away, made up of what looked to have been the man’s dinner, was soaking into the grass. The man’s head darted up at Sam and Paige’s approach.
“Easy, Mr. Holt,” the medic said. “You don’t want to come up too fast. Remember what happened the last time.”
Sam showed his ID. “Mr. Holt, we’re Agents McKade and Carson. We’d like to ask you some questions.”
Holt had bulging green eyes that stood out against his now too-pale face. He lowered the oxygen mask, gripping it in a white-knuckled fist. “I already told the cops.” Holt swallowed once, then again. “About what I saw.”
Sam returned his ID to his belt. “We’d appreciate you telling us as well.”
Holt went another shade of white but nodded. He raised one shoulder. The T-shirt he wore slipped a little, revealing the tip of what looked to be a tattoo of a shark. “Not much to tell. I was coming from my girlfriend’s, decided to cut through the park to save some time and get home to catch a bit of extra sleep before work in the morning. I got on this trail, and there she was. She was layin’ on her side. I thought she was asleep. I said, ‘Hey, lady.’ When she didn’t answer, I got off my bike and touched her.” Tears filled his eyes and streamed down his cheeks. “Oh, God. She was dead.”
“What time was this?” Sam asked.
The same shoulder rose, then fell. “After eleven. The nightly news was just starting when I left Rebecca’s apartment.”
“Rebecca?”
“Tannen. My girlfriend.” The medic handed Holt a towel, and Holt used it to wipe his eyes. “She lives over at the Crossdale Apartments.”
“You said you thought the woman was asleep on the ground?”
“Yeah. Like I said, she was just layin’ there. On her side.”
“Anyone else around at that time?”
“No. Just me and the woman.”
“What happened to the bike?” Sam pointed to the blown tire.
Holt’s mouth shook. “I didn’t see the woman at first, and when I did, it was too late to stop. I ran into a tree.”
“How’d you hurt your leg?” This time, Sam pointed to the thick gash on Holt’s shin, oozing blood, that the medic was cleaning.
“After I touched the woman and realized she wasn’t breathing, I backed way off. I tripped over my bike, sliced my leg open on a sharp piece of the broken metal.”
“Where’d you touch her?”
“Her hand, man. I touched her cold hand.”
“Anywhere else?”
The man wagged his head from side to side like a pendulum. “Isn’t that enough?”
Sam noted Holt’s contact information and Rebecca Tannen’s, too. “We’ll be in touch if we have any further questions.”
Paige neared Holt. Her gaze became avid. “Were you carrying a postcard with you, Mr. Holt?”
“What? A postcard? No.”
Again with the postcard. Sam took Paige’s arm lightly and led her from Holt. When they were alone, Sam eyed Paige. “Why the interest in the postcard?”
Paige cupped her elbows. “I’m trying to establish an origin for it so we can rule out its significance.”
It was base-covering work, and it made sense that she would want that. They needed to run Holt’s information and eliminate him as a suspect. But was that all there was to her interest? They had one more stop to make, then Sam would find out for sure.
Sam looked back to where the other agents were working. The crime scene unit was still bent over the body. “Nothing more we can do here. I need to call the deputy director with an update, then we’ll go speak with Janet Lambert’s husband.”
Sam drove them to the Lambert house, set on a stately property that overlooked Caledon’s town center. The house looked like a replica of Tara, and Sam could see it long before they reached it. All the lights inside and outside were on. Not surprising. Sam didn’t imagine Hugh Lambert would be sleeping tonight.
Sam spotted the news crews, but a fence around the land and private security people ensured that the media remained on public property. Arriving in Sam’s truck and dressed as they were, they didn’t look like federal agents or anyone worth photographing, and Sam was able to get to the gate without attracting any media attention.
At the front door, Sam showed his ID, and a housekeeper whose eyes were swollen from crying ushered them inside.
“Mr. Lambert is in his den. Right this way,” the woman said.
“Thank you.”
The housekeeper opened the door to the den and announced them, then left. Two men were in the room. Lambert had a mane of silver hair and refined features. He was standing at an unlit fireplace with a glass of what looked like scotch pressed to his lips.
Sam entered the room. “Mr. Lambert, I’m sorry to be meeting again under these circumstances.”
“Agent McKade.” Lambert’s grip on his glass tightened. “I just got off the phone with my brother-in-law. He heard from your deputy director. Tell me you have a lead on the bastard who killed Janet.”
“We’re working on that,” Sam said. “Mr. Lambert, this is Agent Carson.” Paige mumbled a response, but it was clear to Sam that she was distracted. Sam’s concern and his determination to find out why heightened. Turning back to Lambert for the moment, Sam said, “We’d like to speak with you in private.”
Lambert appeared to be studying the contents of his glass as if they contained the secrets to the universe. “This is Don Fulton, my attorney and friend. Anything we discuss may be disclosed in Don’s presence.”
Fulton, a man who, like Lambert, appeared to be in his late fifties, broke away from Lambert and shook hands with Sam. “Agent McKade.”
Sam shook the man’s hand. “Mr. Fulton.”
Fulton shook hands with Paige, though Sam saw she barely spared the man a glance. Sam returned his attention to Lambert. “Was Mrs. Lambert in the habit of going to Kirk County Park in the evening?”
Lambert bowed his head. “Regardless of the weather, she said she preferred to walk off her dinner. We have a full gymnasium designed to her specifications, and yet she insisted on obtaining her evening exercise in the park.”
“Anyone go with her?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Did she mention meeting anyone there? Another walker?”
Lambert began to pace the considerable length of the hearth. “To my knowledge, Janet did not have anyone she walked with at the park.”
“Who knew of Mrs. Lambert’s evening ritual?”
“I have no way of knowing who she may have mentioned that to. Certainly our staff knew.”
“We’ll need a list of your staff members’ names. I’ll also need a list of your friends and acquaintances, along with Mrs. Lambert’s. How long did Mrs. Lambert typically spend in the park?”
“I couldn’t say with any accuracy.”
“Why is that?”
“I’m often attending business meetings or functions in the evening. Oftentimes, they run quite late. Janet was always at home by the time I came in.”
“What time did you come in last night?” Sam asked.
“This morning, actually. Not long ago at all. Sometime after midnight. That’s when I discovered that Janet wasn’t at home. I called her cell phone, and it went straight to voicemail. I was about to wake the staff to ask if they knew Janet’s whereabouts, but before I could, I received a call from Police Chief Harmon.”
Lambert’s voice faded, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. Fulton gave Lambert a pat on the shoulder.
“Where was your meeting last night?” Sam asked.
Lambert rubbed his eyes. “My assistant can provide you with all the details.”
Sam saw there was nothing more Lambert could tell him at this time and took out a business card. “Mr. Lambert, call my office with that information and with the names of your staff, friends, and acquaintances. We’ll show ourselves out.”
Paige left the Lambert house and stepped onto the porch. Despite the warm night, she was shivering. Her mind was reeling. Unlike the postcards she’d received, the one found with Janet Lambert’s body was not an image of the Adirondack Mountains but of South Carolina. Kirk County Park was busy on weekends, and not everyone who visited would be local. Some could be tourists or visitors from other counties, other states, maybe spending time with relatives from Kirk. Anyone visiting could have bought and then dropped a postcard. It was possible that it was then carried by the wind or pedestrian traffic to Lambert’s crime scene.
Paige knew all of that, yet her insides were screaming. A postcard. Coincidence? Or had Thames’s left another clue for law enforcement that could never be used against him? No, not law enforcement, Paige specifically, since she was the one he’d been sending postcards to. Had he wanted to be sure that Paige recognized he was responsible for Lambert’s death? Her mind buzzed with theories.
Inside the truck, Sam’s cell phone rang. He activated the truck’s speaker and took the call as he drove down the Lamberts’ driveway.
“McKade,” Sam said.
It was the deputy director. As Sam spoke with the director, Paige paid no attention to their conversation.
At the entrance to the estate, there were more camera crews than there had been when they’d arrived at the Lambert house. A few, maybe alerted now that she and Sam had been admitted into the house, ran toward Sam’s truck, but she and Sam were still cloaked in darkness, hidden from view, though not for much longer. It was almost dawn. Paige peered out at the predawn sky, terrified of what the new day would bring and her inability to stop whatever she feared was coming.
While she’d been lost in her thoughts, Sam had turned onto the road that took them to the office. Protesters were walking in a circle beneath the streetlights across from the Bureau building. One person stood apart from the gathering, filming the others. Paige went still, remembering how the activist, Dr. Prudence, had called on people to protest the injustice the FBI perpetrated on Thames. Paige could hear them through the closed window, above the hum of the air-conditioning.
“Thames. Thames. Thames.”
Sam ended his call. He cut a glance to Paige. “I want to know about your interest in the postcard.”
“Thames. Thames. Thames.”
Paige didn’t respond. The chanting became a buzzing in her ears. The activists weren’t here because she was here. They were protesting the Bureau, not her. But did that matter? Not if Thames had found her. The postcard. The media. The activists. It was all too much. Her breathing picked up. She could hear each rapid inhale and exhale.
“Paige!”
Sam sounded alarmed. He must have heard her distress, because rather than continuing into the office parking lot, he reversed the truck and took a different road.
Paige’s stomach balked. She leaned forward as far as the seat belt would allow. “I’m going to be sick.”
Sam stopped on the gravel by the roadside. Paige released the seat belt and jerked the door handle at the same time. She stumbled onto the road, then dropped to her hands and knees, retching.
Sam came up behind her. He put one large hand on the back of her head and wrapped his other arm around her waist, taking her weight. There was nothing in her stomach. Her nerves had been too tight to eat anything following Sam’s call about Janet Lambert. Only bile came up, and afterward, she shook with dry heaves. Finally, she was spent. If not for Sam’s arm around her, she would have landed face first on the road.
“I’m okay,” she said, but her voice sounded as weak as the rest of her.
“The hell you are,” Sam said. “More bad fish?”
Clearly, he hadn’t believed her excuse the first time she’d gone off to empty her stomach. There was anger and frustration in his tone, but overriding both was concern. She knew how to deal with anger, but his concern terrified her—terrified her because of how much it was coming to mean to her and because the more he cared, the more he would push to find out what she wasn’t telling him.
No good would come of sharing her fears with him. How could it, when all she had was speculation? But now, with Lambert murdered and a postcard found near her body, how could Paige keep from telling Sam everything? How could she withhold information that could help them solve the Lambert murder?
And more than anything else, there was Ivy. Paige had never thought Thames was a threat to Ivy, but if Thames was breaking his pattern to get to Paige, he could break it with Paige’s sister.
Paige’s breath caught. “I have to go home. I have to see Ivy.” Paige pushed against Sam’s hold, but he didn’t release her. Becoming frantic now, Paige’s words tumbled out one on top of the other in her desperation. “Sam, I need to get to Ivy right now.”
Sam gripped her chin, lifting it so she would look at him. “I’ll take you now. We’ll go now. Okay?”
Paige stared into his eyes. “Hurry.”
She could see the questions in his eyes. Eventually, he’d ask them, but for now he responded to her urgency and withheld them. He got to his feet, taking her with him. When he stood her upright, her legs wobbled as if she were a foal taking its first steps. He half-carried her back to the passenger seat. As he drove, he glanced between her and the road, peering at her in the streaks of early dawn. The faint lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth grew more pronounced the longer he looked at her.
When Sam parked in front of her building, Paige clawed at the door handle. Sam came around to her side, reaching her as she stepped onto the asphalt. He took her hand. She found herself clutching his fingers.
The sun was a little bolder on the horizon, but the sky was still more darkness than light. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and led her across the parking lot.
Inside her apartment, Paige didn’t stop to turn on a light but crossed the space to Ivy’s room at a run. Sam was right beside her. Ivy’s bedroom door was closed. Paige flung it open. Ivy was wrapped in a sheet. She was wearing earbuds and didn’t stir as Paige closed the distance to the bed and stared down at her sister.
Paige’s eyes filled with tears, and she pressed a fist to her mouth to hold them inside. Ivy was all right. Ivy was all right.
Sam was still at the bedroom door. Ivy’s blinds were open to the early morning light. Paige could see a deep line now on Sam’s forehead. She joined him, and they left Ivy’s room together, closing the door softly behind them.
In the hall, Paige said, “I need a minute.”
She broke away from Sam and went to the tiny bathroom, taking a moment to rinse the sickness from her mouth and organize her thoughts. She left the door open. Sam had just seen her at her worst, and soon enough, she’d have no secrets from him. A glance in the mirror above the vanity showed her face was pale and clammy. Her eyes were wide and filled with dread. She was cracking under the strain of desperation and fear.
She finished with her toothbrush and mouthwash. Sam was still standing by the door where she’d left him. She joined him in the hall, flicking on lights as she passed them on her way to the living room.
Sam watched her. “You are one tough woman, Paige. I don’t know what to do to show you that you don’t need to be tough with me.”
The raw emotion in his eyes made tears burn her throat. This thing with Thames was too big. It was consuming her. She didn’t have the strength to keep it inside any longer. She was being boxed in. Like a cornered animal, everywhere she turned, danger lurked. Even Sam was dangerous. He’d found a way past her defenses, and she was now in a battle with herself, wanting to keep him out and needing to let him in. If Thames was in Kirk County, Sam needed to know.
“I’m not tough, Sam. I’m a coward.” Paige’s voice came out strangled.
He closed the distance to her. He blew out a breath ripe with worry and frustration, then raised a hand and gently brushed his thumb down her cheek. “Why would you say that?”
A small tremor went through her. “I didn’t leave New York. I ran away. I ran from Denver, too.”
“What are you running from, Paige?”
Paige closed her eyes and whispered, “Todd Thames.”