Hunt Valley, Maryland,
Wednesday 15 June, 4.45 P.M.
The mood in Clay’s living room was more than dark, Frederick thought, wishing he knew what to do but too deep in his own funk to help the others. The normally noisy house was strangely quiet.
The kids were gone. The moms were gone. In the end Joseph had taken Stevie, Paige, Lucy and all their kids, including Cordelia and Julie, plus Ruby and Sam, because if the shit hit the fan, the man might not be able to get out of the way. If Clay’s house was set on fire like JD’s had been, Sam would be a liability, his concussion still causing any fast movements to result in debilitating vertigo. It had been a bitter pill, but he had swallowed it stoically.
Joseph had even arranged for Phil to be transported to a private hospital with security equivalent to that of the Secret Service. But that meant that Jamie had needed to decide whether to stay with Phil or Thorne. Both Phil and Jamie had decided that Thorne needed him more, so Jamie sat in his chair next to his son. Because Thorne was his son, in every way that mattered.
Frederick had taken a seat next to Jamie, because he was certain that even though Jamie felt no regrets about his choice, he still worried about Phil. Giving Jamie his support seemed like the only thing Frederick could do, at least as long as they were all in this waiting pattern.
Because Taylor had gone with Julie, Gwyn was the only woman left in the room, and that had been a truly epic battle. Thorne had tried to bodily force her to get on the plane, but Gwyn had more grit than anyone had expected.
And more moves. The woman could slither and slide and contort her body in ways that still confounded Frederick, and he’d witnessed the whole thing. It was like Thorne had been handling a slippery fish.
Now Gwyn perched on the arm of the loveseat that Thorne had commandeered. Both sat with their arms crossed, still angry with each other. Clay stood at his back window, brooding at the sunset, and JD alternately paced and brooded with him.
JD’s house had burned to the ground. Lucy had grabbed her children, then had gone back in for her violins. Everything else had been destroyed, and they now had only the clothes on their backs. And the violins. JD had been too relieved to see her alive to scold her about risking herself to save the instruments. Frederick suspected that might become an issue later, however. The rest of them had wisely maintained silence on the matter.
Everyone, including Frederick, glanced at their phones with irritating frequency. The plane was still in the air, but would be landing very soon.
‘Anything?’ Jamie murmured, leaning to glance at Frederick’s screen.
‘That depends,’ Frederick answered quietly, feeling as if he were in an oppressive library. ‘The plane has Wi-Fi, so Julie’s sent me lots of pictures. She’s having a ball. It’s only the second time she’s been on a plane. Taylor has Julie, Cordelia and Paige singing “Ninety-nine bottles of chocolate milk on the wall”, and Stevie’s about to go nuclear.’
Jamie chuckled. ‘Chocolate milk?’
‘They’re not old enough to sing about beer.’ He touched the photo of his smiling daughters, feeling wistful. ‘I guess Julie is, but . . . not really. I haven’t done a good job with her.’
‘What?’ Jamie shook his head. ‘You’ve done a fine job. Stop that.’
But Jamie was his friend, so he had to say that. ‘A stranger found out more about my daughter in an hour than I ever knew.’
‘Sally Brewster?’ Jamie asked. ‘Look, she’s a nurse. A pediatric nurse. She’s trained to talk to young people. And it sounds like Julie connected with her. Maybe she just misses having a mom.’
‘Maybe. Sally’s offered to spend time with her after all this is over.’
Jamie’s brows rose. ‘Sally? Huh. You gonna let her?’
‘I think so. I’ve checked her out. She’s legit. A really nice person.’ Frederick hesitated. ‘And we’ve been texting.’
Jamie’s grin spread across his face. ‘You sly dog, you. You like her.’
‘God. You sound like Taylor.’
‘Taylor’s smart. I don’t mind sounding like her.’ Jamie leaned over, bumping shoulders. ‘So what do you text about?’
Frederick shot him a withering look. ‘I’m going to hurt you.’
Jamie snickered. ‘Fine, fine. Just go with it, man. You’re too tight.’
‘You two sound like teenaged girls,’ Thorne grunted from where he sat sprawled on the loveseat, arms crossed over his chest, the picture of manspreading.
Gwyn smacked his chest with a backhand that made her wince. ‘That is a patronizing and condescending thing to say. And shit, why didn’t you take off that damn vest? It hurts.’ Joseph had insisted they all don Kevlar vests for their trip from the airport back to Clay’s house, handing them out like candy on Halloween.
‘Still wearing mine,’ Frederick said.
‘Me too,’ Jamie added. ‘Why aren’t you? They’re not that uncomfortable.’
And would come in handy should Clay’s house be torched by a gunman, forcing them to flee like rats off a sinking ship. The knowledge that that could happen, coupled with the memory of the smell of smoke on Lucy and her children’s clothing when Frederick had hugged them goodbye . . .
Yeah. It was sobering, all right. He was relieved he’d gotten his girls far away. He’d be even more settled when he heard from Daisy. She was not answering any of his calls. He’d had radio silence for the past week, and that wasn’t like her. She’d texted him twice. Once to give him her travel itinerary, and then to tell him that she was alive and receiving his texts, but that was before he’d told her not to come to Baltimore yet, to delay her departure. Since then, he’d heard nothing.
So he was worried.
‘I took the vest off because it was huge,’ Gwyn said, ripping him from his thoughts. ‘It came down past my butt. I can’t sit down properly in it.’
‘You won’t sit down at all if you’re dead,’ Thorne muttered. ‘You should be in Chicago.’
‘I should be here,’ she replied. ‘This mess with the club affects me too. As does the mess with the firm. I’m still listed as an officer and an employee.’
Thorne scowled. ‘You’re fired. All of you, from all of it.’
‘Doesn’t matter.’ She kissed the top of his head, affection showing through her irritation. ‘Even if you fire us, it’s because you love us. So you’re stuck with us.’
‘Until you’re all dead.’ Abruptly he stood up. ‘I can’t just sit here. I need to do something.’ He strode to the bulletin board and made a savage noise at the photo of his office manager, now placed next to the photo of Tavilla.
Anne Poulin, Frederick thought. She’d fooled them all. Even me. Not that he’d ever had a great read on women, but . . . Only Gwyn had had reservations, though Frederick had chalked that up to jealousy.
Again he’d been wrong. Gwyn had an intuition about the woman that they’d all ignored. Even Gwyn herself.
‘Who is the real Anne Poulin?’ Frederick asked. ‘She passed the background check. I began reviewing the employee files the day all this started. Mowry’s inconsistencies stuck out like a sore thumb, but Anne’s record raised no flags. She has a past, a work history, social media, even elementary school photos on her parents’ social media. I found a copy of her work visa and cross-checked it against the government record. It’s legit. She moved here from Montreal five years ago for college. She’s continued to take classes. For a fake identity, this is exceptionally well done. And I know how to fake identities.’
Clay turned from the window. ‘I know,’ he said dryly.
Because Frederick had created the fake identity that had allowed him to hide Taylor from Clay for years, believing him to be a violent, vengeful man. He’d been wrong about Clay, but he was not wrong about this.
‘You’re right, though,’ Clay continued, confirming his thoughts. ‘It’s a good fake. I’ll ask Alec to do some digging.’
At that moment all their phones began ringing, calls from everyone. ‘They’re there,’ Frederick murmured after talking to Taylor. ‘Safe at Ethan’s.’
‘Thank God,’ Gwyn breathed.
At the window, JD sagged forward, resting his forehead against the glass. Clay gave his shoulder a supportive squeeze. ‘Come on, JD. They’re safe now, and we can get to work sending Tavilla to hell so that we can bring them home.’
JD nodded. ‘Except we don’t have a home.’
‘You can use ours,’ Frederick offered. ‘Julie and I can stay here until you rebuild.’
JD smiled wearily. ‘We’ll talk. But thank you.’ He slumped on one of the sofas. ‘Let’s bring this fucker down, Thorne.’
Thorne nodded. He hadn’t moved from the bulletin board, his body still rigid. ‘Right. I need to find him. Tavilla.’
‘And do what?’ JD asked.
‘Stop him.’
Gwyn sighed. ‘I would like nothing more than to put a bullet in Tavilla’s head, but as soon as we do that, we go to prison. I think he’d like that.’
‘From the grave,’ Thorne muttered.
‘But we’d still be in prison,’ Gwyn said carefully.
‘Not “we”,’ Thorne corrected. ‘“I”. And it would be worth it.’
Jamie pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘So what say we come up with an actual plan that doesn’t make me defend your ass on a murder charge a second time?’
Thorne turned, his mouth quirked up on one side. ‘Yes, Dad,’ he said, his tone slightly mocking, but there was affection under it. ‘We tried Chandler Nystrom and he’s a no-go. He might talk under torture, but I don’t know. I’d like to try, except that would just make Jamie scold me again. Tavilla had Patricia killed. We know that, right? I’m really asking. Because there are so many bits of string connecting so many pieces of this puzzle that I could weave a rug.’
‘He’s involved,’ Clay said. ‘Whether he killed Patricia himself or not, he is involved. His trigger was the death of his son.’
Thorne nodded slowly. ‘But Anne’s been with us for a whole year. Whatever Tavilla’s got planned, he put this in motion a long time ago.’
‘So just snuffing him out at this point wouldn’t necessarily stop him,’ Gwyn said. ‘Please promise me that you’re not really considering it.’
Thorne shrugged. ‘If I have to, I will. If I seek him out and he tries to kill me, I will. But I won’t take a potshot at him while he’s walking his dog. If he has one. At least the club will be okay now that we can show that our bartender was in his employ. The bartender – Laura or Bianca or Kathryn or whoever – was the only one with drugs. And the notoriety will just draw crowds when we finally reopen. It’s the firm that concerns me. What do we know about the clients getting blackmail calls?’
‘Six clients called me,’ Jamie said. ‘I assume there were more who haven’t come forward yet, or who won’t. Each got a call from a different number. Each described a different voice. High, low, raspy, male, female, distorted. Whoever made the calls used a voice-alteration app of some kind. Each person was threatened with exposure of their worst secret, things they’d disclosed to you. None were given blackmail terms yet.’
‘So just enough to stir them up,’ Thorne murmured. ‘If this gets out, I could be up on charges with the bar.’
‘Given that Anne-fucking-Poulin works for Satan,’ Gwyn ground out, ‘I think the bar will understand. However, your reputation may not survive. Nor will the firm.’
Thorne sighed. ‘I know. That’s really not my biggest concern at the moment. I’m more worried that the firm is discredited and that any of our employees who has to get another job afterward will be sullied. At least we have fewer employees affected by the firm than the club.’ He tapped Tavilla’s photo. ‘Our goal is to stop him. We do that by exposing his plan and the fact that he’s pulling the strings. We destroy his financial base so that none of his employees get paid. That way, any contracts he has out on any of us won’t be carried out.’
‘Tall order,’ JD said, ‘considering neither Baltimore PD nor the FBI has been able to stop him.’
‘True.’ Thorne chewed on his lip. ‘But he had that damn key ring. And my medal, the one Darian Hinman’s killer left in him. Tavilla had to have gotten them from somewhere. Brent Kiley, the EMT we talked to on Monday, said he’d seen the key ring in Richard’s body, but denied taking it. The only person left in the chain is the ME tech, who’s dead.’
‘But whose widow is still raking in enough fourteen years later to live in a ritzy part of town,’ Jamie said. ‘If the ME tech took it, then who did he give it to?’
‘Somebody with enough money to pay off the widow.’ Thorne pointed to the photo of Linden Senior.
‘Not just him,’ Gwyn murmured. ‘The Hinmans had money too. I mean, that lobby we walked into this morning was something straight out of a museum. Also, by the time the ME tech died, Patricia and Judge Segal were married. He wasn’t a judge then, of course. He was barely out of college. But his family had money too. The Lindens, Hinmans and Segals all had the means. We assume the Lindens had a motive, but what if they weren’t the only ones?’
Thorne huffed an impatient sigh. ‘We need to get that fucker Nystrom to talk to us. Or find Colton Brandenberg. If Richard was molesting his sister or Angie or anyone else, they would have known something about it. Richard was not subtle. Somebody on this board knows something that ties Tavilla to Patricia. When we find that person, we have to get them to roll on him.’
‘You mean Joseph and I do, right?’ JD looked concerned. ‘BPD and the FBI. Not you, Thorne.’
‘I don’t care who takes the credit,’ Thorne said. ‘I just want him stopped. Where is Alec on the ME tech’s widow’s bank records?’
Clay took out his phone. ‘Texting him to come give us a report.’
‘Where is he?’ Frederick asked.
‘In his room downstairs. I sense you judging me for texting.’
Frederick heard the humor in his voice. ‘Maybe a little. I’m supposed to be the old man.’
Clay grinned. ‘Not touching that one. One, I’m too tired to get up and call down there. Two, if he’s got his processors off, he won’t hear me yelling anyway.’
The door to the basement opened and Alec joined them, but he looked frustrated. ‘I was just about to take a break.’ His hair stood up on end, like he’d been shoving his hands through it. ‘I’ve been searching for a way into the widow’s home system, but she’s wily and my Internet’s been wonky. You guys may have to take the low-tech road and simply ask her.’
Thorne sighed. ‘She’s the only loose thread we have – that ties to my past anyway. We still have the judge, his son, and Tristan Armistead, the boy Patricia was . . . involved with? Molesting? Shit.’
‘Stevie was on her way to Tristan’s house when she got hit,’ Clay said. ‘She and Paige had stopped at the school to check in with the coach. They never got to talk to him. He was out today. They were leaving the school office when the shot came.’ He rubbed his face with his palms, shuddering. ‘God. Stevie had stopped dead in her tracks for at least ten seconds when she got shot. The gunman had time to set the shot up, but it was the lightest of grazes. She barely needed stitches. Which, you know, I’m happy about, but . . .’ He shrugged, looking gray. ‘Ten seconds is a long time. If the gunman had any skill at all, he could have hit her right in the heart.’
‘But he didn’t,’ Gwyn said, reaching over to pat his arm. ‘What made her stop?’
‘Oh.’ Clay shook his head as if to clear it. ‘She got a text from my number. Said that the house was under attack, that Cordelia had been shot and was being airlifted to the ER.’
‘Oh,’ Gwyn breathed. ‘Poor Stevie.’
‘Yeah.’ Clay swallowed. ‘We’d set up a code between us, a word we’d use so that she’d know it was me. By the time she figured out that the text was a spoof, she was hit.’
‘That’s a good idea,’ Jamie said. ‘We need to have a word. What—’
‘Stop,’ Alec interrupted. He looked around, a tense frown creasing his brow, then put his finger over his lips and ran downstairs. No one said a word, no one even moved a muscle until he returned holding a scanner.
Shit. Frederick recognized that scanner. It was used to search for listening devices. No. No, no, no. He exchanged horrified glances with everyone else in the room as Alec did a thorough search before dropping to his knees in front of a stack of boxes.
‘No.’ Jamie covered his mouth, cheeks gone pale.
Holy fuck. Frederick met his eyes. ‘Anne,’ he mouthed, and Jamie nodded miserably. They were the boxes of client files that Anne had brought to Phil’s hospital room the day before, and that Frederick had piled in the corner of Clay’s living room because leaving them in Jamie’s van had been too insecure.
Motherfucking shit.
Alec emptied one of the boxes, carefully scanning the contents as he stacked papers and file folders on the floor. Finally, he got to the bottom of the box and pulled out a padded envelope. He gave a yank, and the cardboard box split down the side, revealing a wire.
And the microphone. Alec held it up for them to see, eyebrows lifted in question.
Clay pointed at the door. ‘Get rid of it,’ he mouthed, and Alec nodded.
‘I’m sorry,’ Jamie said as soon as the door was closed. ‘They’re my boxes.’
‘Stop,’ Clay said. ‘You didn’t know that you couldn’t trust your office manager. Let’s just try to figure this out. When did you put them there?’
‘Yesterday evening,’ Frederick said. ‘So they heard all the plans we made last night.’
JD ran a trembling hand through his hair. ‘They knew about the evacuation plans then. That we did it differently may have saved their lives.’
Frederick’s gut dropped. ‘I said they were safe at Ethan’s. I said it softly, but I said it. Depending on how sensitive the microphone is . . . Anyone who does a background check on you, Clay, knows who Ethan is.’ Clay and his former partner had co-owned the personal security business that had grown into Clay’s existing private investigation firm.
‘I’ll call Ethan now,’ Clay said, already dialing. He shared the information with his friend, then ended the call. ‘He’s putting additional security measures in place. He’ll be watching. That’s all we can do for now.’
Alec came in from outside, dusting off his hands. ‘I felt like throwing it in the manure pile,’ he said, ‘but I want a chance to pull it apart. I disconnected it and put it in the gun safe in the trunk of my car. It’s lead-lined.’
‘That’s good,’ Clay said. ‘How did you know to look for it?’
‘My Internet connection was being disrupted. Sometimes that happens downstairs because I’m so far from the router in Clay’s office. I figured it’d be better up here, but it was even worse. I’d done a routine sweep before everyone started gathering here a few days ago, so I knew this was new.’
Clay’s pride was evident in his expression. ‘Good work. I want to go over this house again with a fine-toothed comb. Until then, we discuss nothing here.’
Thorne took out his phone and typed out a text, but didn’t send it. We’ll check out the ME tech’s widow. He passed the phone around. ‘Okay?’ he asked aloud.
‘Fine,’ Clay said. ‘JD and Frederick, you go with them.’ He indicated Gwyn. ‘But you need a vest if you’re going. Stevie has a few extra ones upstairs in her closet. Next to the sparkly evening gown she wore when we went on a cruise.’ His lips curved a little, as if remembering. ‘You can’t miss them.’
‘Thanks.’ She kissed his cheek and took the stairs two at a time.
Thorne glared at Clay. ‘You could have asked her to stay here.’
Clay snorted. ‘Yeah? No. I got enough problems with Stevie. You want Gwyn to stay here, you deal with her. Jamie, I need your help. Alec, get him a scanner and a long-handled extender. If you would, Jamie, scan every wall on this floor. Alec, you take downstairs. I’ll take upstairs. Scan the perimeter, up to the ceilings, then back and forth along the carpet.’
‘Got it.’ Jamie grabbed Thorne’s arm. ‘Do not do anything stupid. Do not make me ground you.’
Thorne smiled. ‘Okay, Dad.’
And that time it hadn’t been mocking at all.
Chevy Chase, Maryland,
Wednesday 15 June, 6.20 P.M.
Eileen Gilson, the ME tech’s widow, lived on a beautiful tree-lined street where a sporty Mercedes and a tidy Kia sedan vied for the only available space in front of her townhouse. Luckily her neighbors didn’t seem to be home, so Thorne was able to find a place to park. The four of them had said little on the drive from Clay’s house, despite Alec declaring the SUV free of listening devices.
Thorne felt edgy and paranoid and he had to draw a breath before getting out of the car. ‘We’re going to overwhelm her,’ he said as the four of them gathered on the sidewalk.
‘I’ll take the lead,’ Gwyn said. ‘You three can be my entourage.’
Without waiting for argument, she hurried up the walk and knocked on the door. A woman in her mid forties answered. She was small and fit-looking, with straight black hair cut in a sharp angle that followed her equally severe jawline. Her gaze scanned their faces, coming to rest on Thorne’s.
‘Hi,’ Gwyn said. ‘We’re sorry to bother you, but we’d like to talk to you. I’m Gwyn Weaver, and this is—’
The woman lifted her hand. ‘I know who you are. You and Mr Thorne, anyway. Come in,’ she said. ‘We’ve been expecting you.’
Casting a perplexed look at Thorne over her shoulder, Gwyn followed, but came to an abrupt halt when she entered the small sitting room. Thorne nearly knocked her over, and stumbled when JD ran into him. But he immediately saw why she’d stopped short. Three suitcases stood at the base of the staircase.
And Detective Prew sat on the sofa, a small blond woman at his side.
‘Okay,’ Gwyn said slowly. ‘But we didn’t expect you.’
‘No,’ Thorne agreed, wondering what the hell was going on. ‘We did not. Frederick and JD, this is Detective Christopher Prew, recently retired. Detective, my associates, Frederick Dawson and JD Fitzpatrick.’
‘My wife, Delia,’ Prew said.
Eileen Gilson motioned to the four chairs she’d pulled from the dining room table into the sitting room. ‘Now that we’ve made all the introductions, please have a seat. I apologize in advance that I don’t have more comfortable seating for you.’
‘You knew we were coming,’ Gwyn said.
‘Yes,’ Eileen confirmed.
‘Why are you here, Detective?’ Thorne asked when it became clear that she planned to say no more than that.
‘I’ll explain,’ Prew promised. ‘I did call Phil, hours ago, but he’d been moved to another hospital. I wasn’t at home and didn’t have the business cards you gave me. Is Phil okay?’
‘He’s fine,’ Thorne answered. ‘Just . . . security.’
Prew’s gaze flicked over to JD. ‘I understand. I was sorry to see your house in the news, Detective Fitzpatrick.’
JD nodded once. ‘It’s just stuff. Everything precious is safe.’
Prew smiled. ‘I’m very glad to hear that.’
Gwyn’s eyes narrowed. ‘How did you know we were coming?’
Prew cleared his throat. ‘Well, I may have been a trifle harsh with the hospital, trying to reach Phil. They wouldn’t give me Jamie’s number either, but after they hung up on me, they called him to tell him that I was pestering them. Jamie called me and I told him that I was here. He said to sit tight, that he’d let you know, but that was only a few minutes ago. I’m sensing that he didn’t tell you.’
Thorne’s phone picked that moment to buzz. He checked it to find a text from Jamie, complete with their code word. ‘He just did. So back to my question. Why are you here, Detective?’
‘My wife was at the beauty parlor today. She called me on my cell and told me to haul ass over there.’
‘Not in those words,’ Mrs Prew protested mildly. ‘Chris had asked me to keep an ear open for any rumors or gossip about Patricia Segal. I was stunned to see Ms Gilson in one of the chairs, though. We hadn’t seen each other in quite a while.’
Eileen nodded, meeting no one’s eyes. ‘She overheard me talking to my son on the phone. I was telling him that we had a last-minute trip planned and that he should meet me here.’ Her smile was strained. ‘He’s in college. He had plans already. I was rather . . . insistent. I didn’t realize that my voice had carried.’
Mrs Prew looked a little uncomfortable. ‘It really didn’t. I was actively listening because I knew that Ms Gilson was a person of interest for you. After she hung up with her son, she called a neighbor to ask her to collect her mail until she could have it forwarded. I got the impression she was leaving town for a while. So I called my husband.’
Thorne wasn’t sure how he felt about the retired detective sharing facts about the case with his wife, then realized he’d have done the same with Gwyn.
‘We followed her here,’ Prew said, ‘saw she was loading up her car, and asked her to stay. You need to tell them,’ he said gently to Eileen.
She drew a shaky breath. ‘I know. It’s just hard after all these years.’ She rose and walked to the front window, wringing her hands. ‘I wish my son were here. I’d feel a lot better about telling you this if I knew he was safe.’
‘Your son was threatened?’ Gwyn asked, her voice much softer.
‘Yes. He’s the only reason I kept this secret for so long. Him and the fact that I didn’t want to go to prison.’ She rubbed her arms briskly. ‘Okay. My husband, Kirby, worked for the ME’s office when Richard Linden was murdered. He prepped the body. You already know about the key ring. And according to Detective Prew, you’ve already figured out that Kirby took it.’
‘Why did he?’ Thorne asked.
‘Because . . .’ Eileen closed her eyes. ‘He was honest. Until that moment, he was so honest. And that moment, that bad decision, it ruined our lives. The victim’s father asked him for it. Came right into the morgue and asked him. Kirby said he was shocked and said no. So the man offered to pay him.’ She shook her head. ‘We were pretty desperate at the time. I was pregnant with our son and on bed rest. I’d lost my job and we had loans and . . . He did the wrong thing.’
‘Come and sit down with us, Eileen,’ Gwyn said kindly. ‘The window may not be the wisest place to stand right now.’
Eileen jerked away and walked back to her seat, nervously looking out of the window from across the room. ‘God. This is a nightmare.’
Gwyn patted her hand. ‘I know. We’ve been living it this week, but you’ve lived with it a lot longer, haven’t you?’
She nodded, swallowing thickly. ‘Yes.’
‘When did you know what your husband had done?’
‘Not for five years.’ She covered her mouth, her eyes filling with tears. ‘I always knew something had happened, because one day Kirby was happy, and then he wasn’t. He wasn’t the same after that. For a while I thought he’d cheated. I was flat on my back and not able to do anything. But he insisted that he hadn’t, that the body of the Linden boy had just hit him hard. And I’d read about the case in the paper, so I believed that.’
Mrs Prew pulled a tissue packet from her purse and gave it to Eileen. The woman nodded her thanks and dabbed at her eyes.
‘It was when our son was four and a half that it all came out. He was diagnosed with leukemia and we . . . we were devastated. We were also poor. Kirby was going to school at night, and I was working part-time and we had insurance, but it didn’t cover everything. And what it didn’t cover bankrupted us in the first month. We were desperate. And then, all of a sudden, we had money. Lots of it. Enough to pay for our son’s treatment. I demanded to know where Kirby had gotten it, and that’s when he told me about the key ring. That he’d gone back to the boy’s father and told him that he’d tell the police about it if he didn’t pay him more money. Linden did and our son lived.’
‘But your husband didn’t,’ Thorne said quietly.
‘No. He never got over any of it, though. If he’d had a bad time when he took money for the first time, he was overcome by guilt the second time around. He’d stand at our son’s bedside and cry. He swore me to secrecy. Said we’d go to prison if anyone found out. And then one day, I got a visit from the police saying that my husband was in the morgue. That he’d responded to the scene of a shooting and a “stray bullet” hit him. But I knew the truth. I knew he’d been silenced.’
‘Why didn’t you say anything then?’ Prew asked.
She laughed bitterly. ‘And end up like my husband? My son was in remission, but that could have changed at any moment. I knew that. I was the only person left to take care of him. And then, about two weeks after I buried Kirby, there was a knock at my door. It was Mr Linden. He said that he knew I’d said nothing and that I was smart. He said that if I continued to be smart, everything would be fine. I was too scared to say a word. The next day, money was deposited into my account. That’s continued, every month, ever since.’
Frederick leaned forward. ‘Where does the money come from? Is it an account in Linden’s name?’
‘No. It comes from a corporation. I tried once to dig through the layers to get to who actually owned the company, thinking that if I could show it was Linden, I could get free. But I couldn’t untangle it.’
‘What do you mean, get free?’ Gwyn asked.
‘I tried to keep working, deposited all my paychecks in a separate account, figuring that if I had to, I could just walk away. Then one day one of Mr Linden’s attorneys showed up with the keys to this place. Said that Mr Linden was afraid I’d leave town. That if I tried, he’d claim that I’d extorted money from him and that I could go to prison. Which is ironic as hell. So I’ve stayed here where he can watch me.’
‘Did you have contact with Mr Linden again?’ JD asked.
‘No. It kind of became . . . my life. And then I read about what happened to Linden’s daughter, Patricia. I nearly came forward, but . . . I didn’t. I started packing instead.’ She dropped her eyes, appearing ashamed. ‘And then Darian Hinman was found dead. I knew he’d testified at your trial, Mr Thorne. Kirby had followed every detail. He’d told me everything. I knew Hinman and Richard Linden had been friends. And now Brent Kiley, the EMT, has been killed, and—’
Thorne jerked forward in his seat. ‘Wait, what?’
Her eyes widened in surprise. ‘I read it on the news. When I was in the salon. His body was found this afternoon. That’s why I wanted my son to come home, so we could get away.’
Thorne twisted in his chair to stare at JD, whose mouth was slightly open.
‘I didn’t know,’ he murmured.
Thorne nodded. ‘We need to talk to your boss.’
JD nodded grimly. ‘You’re right. We do.’
Prew frowned. ‘I’m sorry. I thought you would have heard. I thought that’s why you came here.’
‘No,’ JD said. ‘We’ve been a little busy with another shooting and a house fire.’
Frederick held out his phone. ‘Here it is. Brent Kiley was found this afternoon by someone from his firehouse when he didn’t show up for his shift. There are no details yet.’
‘I’ll get them,’ JD vowed. Joseph had been busy carting the moms and kids to Chicago, but Hyatt could have called. Should have called.
Eileen searched their faces. ‘What are you going to do with me?’
‘Nothing,’ Thorne said. ‘I’m not a cop and JD is here as my friend, not in an official capacity. But it would make a difference if you gave a statement. The key ring is important. Richard Linden’s killer thought so. His sister’s killer agreed. So did Darian Hinman’s. That Linden Senior has paid you for years for your silence means that he knows it’s important too.’
She looked away. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t. I’ll be on record and I’ll have to testify. There won’t be anywhere on earth safe enough for my son.’
You fucking bitch. Thorne’s temper broke free. ‘Look at me, Eileen,’ he bit out, using the voice that made hardened criminals sit up straight and tell him everything. He waited until she’d dragged her gaze to his. ‘You have been silent for fourteen years because you were afraid. We all get that. We are afraid. I am afraid. My friends have been shot at. My employees have been injured and set up for crimes they did not commit. My father was attacked in his home. And this afternoon, someone set Detective Fitzpatrick’s house on fire. His wife and children were inside. His children, Eileen. Babies.’
Her gaze skittered away again and he had to resist the urge to grab her face and force her to look at him. She had information that could get them a warrant to search Linden’s home and office, if the corporation could be traced to him. He’d hoped she’d do the right thing, but her jaw had taken on a stubborn line.
This was a woman who’d taken money for her silence. She’d embraced the lifestyle the money afforded. She was not going to testify willingly.
‘Look at Detective Fitzpatrick,’ he spat. ‘Look at him and tell him that your kid is more important than his babies. No? You asked what we’ll do with you. I don’t know about them, but I know exactly what I’ll do. Do you have any idea how many requests I’ve had from reporters asking me to tell my story? Hundreds. Many from national, international networks. What I will do is give them what they want. And I will be sure to tell everyone what you have done. I will be sure to tell them about the Mercedes you drive, the lifestyle you enjoy, the job you do not have.’
She looked at him then, eyes filled with hate. And fear. Whether that fear was because of him, or Linden, or even Tavilla, he didn’t know and did not care. ‘You wouldn’t dare,’ she challenged, but her voice shook.
He laughed as bitterly as she had. ‘Watch me. Someone is taking my life apart, bit by bit, hurting the people I love. I have nothing to lose.’
He held her gaze as the seconds ticked by. Then she jerked a single nod. ‘Fine. But I want protection for my son.’
No fucking way, he wanted to snarl, but bit it back. This wasn’t the kid’s fault any more than it had been Thorne’s fault when Richard had been murdered.
Gwyn placed a hand on his and Thorne realized he was trembling. ‘We can ask,’ she said quietly. Calmly. Thorne shuddered and felt his anger draining away. He was too exhausted to hold onto it any longer, but Gwyn had taken the baton and he was grateful.
Eileen folded her arms over her chest. ‘All right. It would seem I don’t have much choice.’
She really didn’t. He felt a prick of conscience that he was forcing her hand, then remembered how JD had sobbed in his arms that afternoon. His friends – his family – were hurting. And he could make it stop. Somehow he would make it stop.
He dug deep and found his courtroom presence, and with it, his calm. ‘Just so that we are perfectly clear,’ he said coldly. ‘You’re agreeing to testify that your husband tampered with evidence, turned over the key ring to Richard’s father for money, then later blackmailed the Lindens in exchange for his silence. Then, after his death, you continued to accept money for your silence. Is this correct?’
Her jaw flexed as she ground her teeth. ‘Yes. That is correct.’
It was enough to get a warrant for Linden’s records. Hopefully that would lead to a connection to Tavilla, because that was the one piece of the puzzle that continued to elude them.
‘Thank you,’ he said stiffly. ‘We appreciate your cooperation.’