Chevy Chase, Maryland,
Monday 13 June, 9.25 A.M.
It was remarkably the same, Thorne thought as Jamie navigated the streets leading through Chevy Chase. The houses had always been grand and well kept. The cars had always been luxury models. The signage in the yards had always warned trespassers to keep away.
Grand houses gave way to smaller homes in more middle-class neighborhoods, until they stopped in front of a bungalow painted a cheerful yellow with a garden full of roses. Jamie put his van in park. They’d brought his vehicle because it was easiest for him to enter and exit with his chair.
It wasn’t the most maneuverable of automobiles, but Jamie had mad driving skills, which was good because they’d had to lose no fewer than five news vans and four cars. Some of those cars probably held reporters. At least one had been the cop tasked with their surveillance. Thorne felt safer without the constant police presence, especially since they were hoping Prew would give them real information. He might be loath to meet with them if he thought the cops would find out. The man had a pension to hold onto, after all.
‘Detective Prew is expecting us,’ Jamie said into the quiet of the car, because no one had said a single word since they’d left that morning.
Thorne had been lured from his room by the smell of coffee, to find Jamie and Phil at the kitchen table with Gwyn, already dressed. They were all elbow-deep in paperwork. Jamie had brought up the box with the file from his trial and they’d located one of the EMTs and the ME who’d done Richard’s autopsy.
Thorne could only blink blearily at them. He’d fallen asleep only an hour before. He’d tried to sleep all night, he truly had, but he’d only lain in bed looking at the ceiling and alternating between thoughts of the woman who’d died in his bed and the very live woman asleep on the sofa. Everything within him had wanted to go to Gwyn, to lose himself in her scent, in the soft feel of her skin. But he hadn’t.
He’d made his case. The ball was in her court.
But this morning she was clearly as messed up as he was. He only had to look at her to realize she hadn’t slept at all either. She had dark circles under her eyes, well hidden by her makeup but still visible to anyone who knew her. And Thorne had watched her face for twelve long years. He knew every curve and line intimately.
She was dressed conservatively and that annoyed him. Gwyn didn’t dress conservatively. Gwyn was out there, flashy. Herself. But he knew she’d be trying to make a good impression today, so he said nothing. Although it annoyed him even more that she thought she had to be someone else to make that good impression. That she’d thought it the night before as she’d packed her bag with the clothes she only wore to funerals and to court.
There was absolutely nothing wrong with who she was. He’d tried to figure out how to tell her that, but no words had come, so he’d let it go.
Now the four of them were in front of Prew’s house, and Thorne found he was nervous. Not a feeling he cared for at all. ‘Who’s on point with Prew?’ he asked when they’d exited the van.
‘I am,’ Phil said. ‘At least at the beginning. I’m thinking Jamie should take over if Prew is comfortable talking to all of us.’
Thorne stopped mid-step. ‘What do you mean, “if”? Doesn’t he know we’re about to descend on him?’
‘No,’ Phil said, ‘he’s only expecting me, but he knows it’s about you, so I think he’ll be okay with the four of us. Come on, Thorne. We don’t want to be late.’
Thorne followed with a scowl until he caught Gwyn scowling back at him. ‘What?’
‘Behave, Thorne,’ she hissed. ‘Phil is nervous enough.’
‘So am I,’ he hissed back.
‘But you’re supposed to be the pro at this. How many times have you walked into a detective’s office to ask questions?’
‘This isn’t his office. It’s his home. And I’ve never been asking about myself!’
‘Then pretend it’s not about you. Pretend it’s about me. That I’m being set up for murder. Then you find that fire of yours, because I want this over. I want you to be able to live without either murder hanging over your head for the rest of your life.’
He stared at her, then realized she was right. He shook himself, irritated that he’d allowed a homicide detective to rattle him. It was just . . . ‘This whole thing makes me feel seventeen again,’ he confessed.
Her smile was patient. ‘I know it does. Just remember who you are. Thomas Thorne, who eats prosecutors for breakfast and spits out their bones.’
He swallowed a laugh. ‘I think you should keep that visual to yourself. I am being framed for homicide, after all.’
‘True,’ she allowed.
‘Thank you.’ He’d needed to laugh. He’d needed her to steady him.
Her expression was sober as she nodded. ‘You’re welcome.’
They were greeted at the front door by a gray-haired African-American man around Jamie’s age, and the years seemed to fall away. Thorne remembered this guy, remembered his eyes, which had been so hard to read. He’d never seen Prew in anything other than a suit and tie, but today he’d dressed casually in a polo shirt and khaki pants. A set of golf clubs leaned against the foyer wall. It appeared that the man was enjoying his retirement. He looked a little surprised to see a group instead of just Phil, but he rolled with it.
‘Please sit down,’ he said, once he’d led them to the living room.
‘Thank you for seeing us on short notice,’ Phil said. ‘Christopher Prew, this is Jamie Maslow, Gwyn Weaver and Thomas Thorne.’
Prew nodded at each of them, but when he came to Thorne, he gave him a long look. ‘I’ve watched your career over the years. I’ve been impressed, even though I think defense attorneys are one step down from IRS agents.’
Thorne found himself smiling. ‘Thank you.’
Prew grinned. ‘You’re welcome. I apologize that I don’t have refreshments to offer. My wife is out and . . . well, I didn’t realize there would be four of you. You’d have to fight over the two Danishes I bought this morning.’
‘Our apologies for not warning you. We weren’t sure that Thorne would be up to the trip,’ Gwyn said. ‘He was in the hospital yesterday.’
Prew frowned at that. ‘I heard. You’ve got yourself some trouble, Mr Thorne. Although I remember you as Mr White.’
‘I changed my name back to that of my birth father after the trial. My stepfather was a cruel man, as I’m sure you recall. I didn’t want to bear his name.’
‘I don’t blame you,’ Prew agreed. ‘White was a piece of work for sure. A bully and a thug. So. What can I do for you all this morning?’
‘We’re here to talk to you about Thorne’s case nineteen years ago,’ Jamie said. ‘The murder yesterday was set up to appear similar to that of Richard Linden.’
Prew’s brows went up. ‘Shit.’
Gwyn leaned forward, meeting the detective’s eyes. ‘Somebody wants to hurt Thorne. We need to know how they got the information about the Linden case.’
‘They could have read the court transcripts,’ Prew said, but not unkindly.
‘There were a few details that the court transcripts didn’t contain,’ Jamie told him. ‘Because Montgomery County PD, for whatever reason, held them back.’
‘Patricia Segal’s body had a key ring embedded in one of her wounds.’ Thorne watched the man’s face for his reaction. ‘It appeared to be made from a medal. A key was still attached to the ring.’
Prew’s brows shot up. ‘We never released that information.’
‘Exactly,’ Thorne said quietly. ‘Yet someone knew. Someone deliberately chose to murder the sister of the young man I’d been accused of killing in a way that was similar to his murder. I want to know how and why. We’re hoping you have some thoughts on it, or at least can help us find a few of the people who were involved in my case back then.’
‘Like?’ Prew asked, again not unkindly.
‘Like the EMTs who took Richard to the hospital,’ Jamie said. ‘The cops first on the scene. The ER doctors who declared him dead. The ME and any morgue personnel who touched his body. Anyone who was involved in the episode that led to Thorne’s expulsion, because they either perjured themselves on the stand or disappeared and refused to testify at all. But before we discuss any of those people, I’d like to know why the police chose to suppress the existence of the key ring.’
Prew scrunched his eyes closed. ‘Starting with the softball questions, are we?’ He sighed. ‘I shouldn’t be talking to you at all.’
‘Then why are you?’ Gwyn asked softly.
Prew met her eyes. ‘Who are you exactly? How do you connect? Phil I know, and Jamie I remember. You’re new.’
‘Well, not so new,’ Gwyn said, flashing the retired detective a sweet smile that made Thorne want to chuckle because it was so utterly bullshit. ‘I work with Thorne. I was his paralegal for several years. Now we partner in our club.’
‘Sheidalin,’ Prew said, surprising both of them.
‘You know it?’ Thorne asked.
‘Took my wife there a few years back. She’d heard about this violinist. One of your other partners, as I recall. We enjoyed the performance. Although it was . . . different.’
‘That was Lucy,’ Gwyn said, and Thorne could tell she knew exactly where the detective was going with this. She was a better bullshitter than Prew was. ‘Who is, as I’m sure you know, an ME and is now married to one of BPD’s finest, JD Fitzpatrick. So do we pass muster, Detective Prew?’
His lips twitched. ‘Yeah. Fitzpatrick is a good cop and I’ve worked with Lucy Trask in the past. My wife went to the club with me on my request. I couldn’t believe the prim-and-proper ME was the performer shown in the paper. But she was.’ He gave Gwyn a shrewd look. ‘You run the place yourselves?’
‘With a few managers, yes. Why?’
‘Because after Phil called me yesterday, I was curious. And a little . . . cautious. So I visited your club again. The mood was decidedly different than it was the first time I went. Much more tense, but not in a good way.’
Thorne stiffened and glanced at Gwyn. He hadn’t even thought about the club last night. She just lifted a brow and turned back to Prew. ‘How so? According to the manager on duty, there were no fights, no disagreements. Everyone liked the band.’
Prew didn’t blink. ‘Well, your manager on duty left a few things out. There was a major disturbance. Your bouncer grabbed two guys by the collar and carried them out like they were puppy dogs. Tossed them out like garbage.’
‘Which,’ Gwyn said amiably, ‘as it turns out, they were.’ She glanced up at Thorne. ‘More assholes trying to deal out of the club.’
Thorne shrugged, some of his stiffness receding. ‘That’s a near-nightly occurrence, Detective. Tell us something we don’t know. Our club is clean and we work hard to keep it that way.’
‘So said your employees. You were definitely the topic of conversation, Mr Thorne. Your employees are loyal. And they didn’t trust me, for sure.’
‘They don’t know you,’ Gwyn said, still amiably. ‘They know us. They know we’re honest and we don’t tolerate anything illegal. They know we pay their salaries and health insurance on time, and that we create a safe space for them to work. We even have a part-time nursery in the back now. Soundproofed, staffed and secure.’
Her tone was mild, but her chin lifted and Thorne caught the pride in her eyes when she looked up at him. ‘Right, Thorne?’
‘Absolutely. It’s not an easy job, but Gwyn runs a tight ship. What does this have to do with the question Jamie asked you?’
‘It doesn’t. I’m answering the question Miss Weaver asked me.’
‘Oh,’ she said with a nod. ‘Which was why you’re talking to us. I still don’t get it. I mean, we could have paid our people to say nice things. We are performers, you know. If they couldn’t play their role, they’re not much good to us on stage. Yes?’
Prew chuckled. ‘Yes.’ Then he sobered. ‘I was more interested in what the people who got kicked out said. I followed them for a block or two. I mean, they were drug dealers and it wasn’t so long ago that I was a cop. They were pretty rattled, actually. They stopped to call their boss, who’d apparently figured that with you out of the way, Mr Thorne, the way would be clear for them to deal from your club. I couldn’t hear what the boss said, but he didn’t seem too happy if their expressions were any indication. They were literally shaking in their shoes.’ He shrugged. ‘I figured that spoke well of you, so I’ll tell you what I can.’
Jamie crossed his arms. ‘Then start by telling me why the police suppressed the key ring Thorne found in Richard’s body.’
Prew looked uncomfortable. ‘My boss decided it should be so. At the time he wanted to hold the existence – and disappearance – of the key ring back in case it was discovered during the course of the investigation. Whoever had it couldn’t claim they were a copycat because, theoretically, only the killer would have known about it. I didn’t get it, but I was pretty new to homicide then. I didn’t know him that well, so I pushed back. I wanted it in the record because at the very beginning I wasn’t sure if you’d killed Richard or not, Mr Thorne. My boss told me to back off. That I had no idea what I was stirring up. I didn’t realize he was so susceptible to community pressure.’
‘I assume you mean from Richard’s father,’ Thorne said. ‘But why? That doesn’t make any sense.’
‘I don’t know,’ Prew admitted. ‘I heard later that Mrs Linden had a nervous breakdown, and the “violation” of her stepson’s body was what pushed her over the edge.’
‘Stepson?’ Gwyn asked.
Prew nodded. ‘Richard’s mother was the first Mrs Linden. She didn’t have a nervous breakdown. I was surprised that the second Mrs Linden would. She seemed too controlled to lose her cool – or to have admitted it, anyway. It also bothered me that the medal had shoved her off the edge. I mean, Richard was gutted like a deer. That someone had shoved something inside his body didn’t seem all that much worse. At any rate, I think it makes more sense that it was pressure from Linden rather than any desire to preserve the investigation that kept the key ring out of the records. The existence of a key ring made from a sports medal would have been a major clue, especially since your medal had also gone missing, Mr Thorne.’
‘Which was why we didn’t push it back then,’ Thorne said. ‘But I’m pushing it now, because that damn key ring, or at least a replica, has turned up again.’
‘I wish I’d pushed harder to have it included in the trial now,’ Prew said, his regret evident.
Jamie sighed. ‘So do I. Okay, we know now that this key ring is of vital importance. Back to the people who might have come into contact with it.’ He handed Prew the list of first responders and morgue personnel who’d handled Richard’s body. ‘Know any of these?’
Prew scanned the list. ‘I would have interviewed them as part of the investigation. I’ve kept all my notes, so I can check, but I don’t remember any of . . . Oh, wait. I know this name. The morgue tech. Kirby Gilson.’
Prew hesitated and Thorne grew impatient. ‘What do you know about him?’
Prew looked up. ‘Well, mostly that he’s dead. He was shot at a scene he was responding to. First responders didn’t know there was still an active shooter, so they’d called the morgue techs in. I didn’t investigate the homicide, but I remember the funeral. He had a wife, and a kid who had leukemia or something like that. We took up a collection for them.’
‘When was this?’ Thorne asked, making a note to have Lucy check on the man’s work history.
Prew frowned. ‘Maybe ten years ago? Fifteen years, at the most. Are you thinking he was shot deliberately?’
‘We don’t know what we’re thinking,’ Thorne said, frustrated. ‘But we have to start somewhere. What about the others on the list?’
Prew handed the paper back to Jamie. ‘I know the ER doctor, because my kids played sports and we ended up in the ER too many times back then. He’s passed on too. Stroke, I think. Or maybe a heart attack. He was a good guy. The rest of the names, I don’t know. I’m not saying they’re good or bad. I just don’t know. It’s been nineteen years.’
‘Well, then, what about Angela Ospina?’ Phil said. ‘She’s the girl who Thorne was trying to protect when this whole debacle began. I couldn’t find her.’
‘Oh, that’s an easy one. She runs a hair salon in Bethesda. Upscale. Very high-class clientele.’
‘Good for her,’ Thorne murmured. She’d pulled herself up by her bootstraps.
The retired detective made a face. ‘Maybe. Maybe not. You know we tried to get her to testify for you in your trial.’
Thorne sat back in his chair, surprised in a warm way. ‘No, I didn’t know that. Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome, of course, but I was just doing my job. Angie Ospina was a missing link, a loose thread. After your arrest, she disappeared. Her father said she’d run away, but we didn’t believe him. He was far too eager to see us go. Most parents want the cops’ help when their teenaged daughters run off.’
‘Where do you think she went?’ Thorne asked.
‘She was with her aunt in . . .’ Prew frowned. ‘Somewhere west. Kansas or Iowa or Nebraska. Some state with corn.’
Thorne chuckled, surprising himself. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘But when she came back, what happened? Did the Lindens bother her?’
Prew’s frown intensified. ‘No. On the contrary. They fronted her business. She came back two years after your trial. She’d finished high school in whichever corn place she went to, then got a job with one of the local beauty shops. Then about ten years ago, she up and starts this new salon. Rumor has it that the Lindens loaned her a lot of money.’
‘Rumor?’ Jamie asked. ‘Or fact?’
‘Rumor,’ Prew said. ‘I kept tabs on her after she came back. I wondered if the Lindens had put pressure on her to leave back then, so that she couldn’t testify that Richard had started the whole mess by groping her. If they had, that would have been witness tampering and I really wanted something on Linden Senior. I was also worried that they’d give her trouble, but she claimed they’d been nothing but kind to her.’
Thorne snorted. ‘Right.’
‘I didn’t believe her either,’ Prew admitted, ‘but I couldn’t dig deeper unless she made a complaint.’
‘Why were you hoping to get something on Linden Senior?’ Phil asked curiously.
‘Because he makes my skin crawl. His son made my skin crawl. His daughter . . . I never knew her well enough to form an opinion, but Dick Linden Senior is a shark. I don’t trust him, so I keep tabs on his businesses. Just in case something looks amiss.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m retired. I look back at your case as a blight on my record, Mr Thorne. I didn’t believe you did it, but I couldn’t prove it. I’ve always been sorry for that.’
‘You’re talking to me now,’ Thorne said. ‘It’s far more than I expected. Is Angie’s business successful?’
‘That I don’t know. It seems to be, from the outside. For instance, I saw her at a community fund-raiser recently. She was wearing shoes that had to cost a month’s salary. And before you ask, my wife knows shoes. She told me that.’
‘Her place is called Heavenly Salon,’ Gwyn said, looking at her phone. She glanced up briefly. ‘I Googled Angie’s name. She’s listed as the owner. I’m considering a whole new look,’ she said, tossing back her hair, which she’d allowed to dry in ringlets. It was Thorne’s favorite of all her hairstyles. Just free and natural. Just begging for him to run his fingers through it.
And that’s enough of that, he thought. Focus.
‘What do you hope to gain?’ Prew asked.
‘Information. If she’s indebted to Linden, I’d like to know. If her business is thriving, good for her. If she’s having trouble making ends meet?’ Gwyn lifted a shoulder. ‘She’d be vulnerable to someone either paying or extorting information.’
‘She wouldn’t have known about the key ring,’ Prew cautioned, but then he nodded. ‘But she knows something, otherwise Linden wouldn’t have given her a dime. I’ve assumed it was payment for not testifying, but without her cooperation, it makes for a weak case. Which is why I never pursued it.’
‘We’ll need to see when she got the loan,’ Gwyn said thoughtfully. ‘I mean, why then? Why not nineteen years ago, when she ran away to corn-town to keep from having to testify on Thorne’s behalf?’
‘We don’t know that they didn’t pay her then,’ Thorne said. ‘Maybe she went back for more.’
Gwyn shrugged. ‘You could be right. Either way, I want to talk to her. Worst that can happen is that I come away with a nice hairdo, but I may be able to get more.’
‘You really think you can get answers?’ Jamie asked.
Gwyn gave him a coy smile. ‘Counselor, I know how to get hairdressers to gossip. It’s one of my best skills.’
‘It’s true,’ Thorne said with a smile of pride. ‘When we first started out, Gwyn would pose as whoever she needed to be to get information for our clients’ cases.’ He’d nearly forgotten about that. ‘I’m glad she used her powers for good and not evil.’
‘Evil probably pays more,’ she lamented, then tapped her phone. ‘I’ll make an appointment as soon as the salon opens at ten.’ She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. ‘I’ll tell them it’s a fashion emergency.’
Jamie smiled at her dramatic delivery. ‘I don’t even want to know what that entails.’ He checked his own phone for the names of the people they’d wanted to interview. ‘Next on my list are the three friends of Richard who beat Thorne up the day he got expelled. We know where Chandler Nystrom and Darian Hinman are. But we couldn’t find Colton Brandenberg.’
Prew’s smile dimmed. ‘Be careful there. Darian is a chip off his old man’s block, and that’s not a compliment. Chandler . . .’ He shook his head. ‘Some people should not be given a badge. He’s had some run-ins, gotten written up by IA. I can’t give you details because I don’t know them. But I do know he left the force abruptly and got a job in private security.’
‘What about Colton?’ Thorne asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Prew admitted. ‘He left town for a while after Richard’s murder. Came back to testify, but he was messed up.’
‘I don’t remember him being messed up,’ Thorne murmured.
‘I do,’ Jamie said bluntly. ‘I worried that he was on something. He was like . . . a zombie walking. I was prepared to go to the judge and have his testimony stricken if he said anything wacky, but he just confirmed the facts as we already knew them – except for Richard Linden starting the fight with you by groping Angie Ospina. That he claimed he couldn’t recall.’
Prew was nodding. ‘After the trial, Colton left town and, to my knowledge, hasn’t been back. His sister is still local. She’s a seamstress. Makes draperies. Talented, or so my wife says. I’ll get her details and send them to you.’
‘Thank you,’ Thorne said. ‘Really, thank you. You didn’t have to tell us any of this.’
‘Yeah, I kind of did. We all get that one case, you know? I was there at the school that day. I remember talking to Sherri and thinking, goddamn, if they’d just given the poor kid his guitar, none of this would have happened. And then Sherri died. I hated that. She seemed like such a nice girl.’
Thorne swallowed hard. ‘She was. She really was.’
Prew sighed. ‘And then I talked to you, and you were just . . . lost. Abandoned by your mother and stepfather. Targeted by Linden. So . . . yeah, Mr Thorne, I really had to. Just . . . don’t make any more trouble, okay? I mean, I don’t think you made any back then, but somebody has a hard-on for you. Don’t give them any rope.’
Thorne made his lips curve. ‘I’ll do my very best,’ he said tightly.
Prew winced. ‘Ouch. I knew I should’ve shut my mouth while I was ahead. I didn’t mean I thought you were guilty. Not then. And from what I hear at the water cooler, not now.’
Jamie cocked his head. ‘What do you hear at the water cooler?’
‘Well, Gil Segal – the victim’s husband – is a judge, right? Rumor has it that he and the missus were having some hard times. They bought a lot of property and then Patricia’s business tanked. So that was bad. But my wife heard that Patricia was having an affair.’
All four of them blinked. ‘Where did she hear that?’ Phil asked.
Prew grinned. ‘Beauty parlor.’
‘Told you so,’ Gwyn said. ‘Any water cooler rumors about who she was doing on the side?’
‘Not that my wife told me, but I’ll ask her that too.’ Prew shrugged. ‘She wasn’t well liked, Mrs Segal. So take whatever rumors you hear with a grain of salt.’
‘What business was she in?’ Thorne asked.
Prew frowned. ‘I’m not sure. Something she was doing for her father. Again, my wife will know.’
‘What salon does your wife use?’ Gwyn asked him.
‘I have no idea. I’ll ask her.’ He checked his watch. ‘I have to be going soon. I have a tee time at eleven. Keep me up to speed, if you don’t mind. If there’s any arresting of Linden, I’d really like to be there to witness it. You know, for old times’ sake.’
‘We will,’ Thorne promised.
Baltimore, Maryland,
Monday 13 June, 10.30 A.M.
Frederick turned a three-sixty on the deserted dance floor of Sheidalin. ‘Hello?’ he called. ‘Anybody home?’
‘Just a second!’ A voice came from an open door behind the bar. Sheldon Mowry appeared, an iPad clutched in one hand. The club’s assistant manager frowned when he saw Frederick hurrying over. ‘What is it? Is Thorne okay?’
‘Yes,’ Frederick said. ‘I just talked to Phil and Jamie. Thorne’s . . . you know. Thorne.’
Mowry rolled his eyes. ‘Yeah, I got that.’
Frederick studied the man for a moment. He was in his early thirties, slender, with wild hair that looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in a decade. His arms were covered with tattoos. But his eyes were clear and without guile. Almost . . . innocent. Thorne vouched for the guy, but those innocent eyes rang an alarm bell in Frederick’s mind. He’d checked Mowry out before coming here this morning, but had found nothing pre-dating his time here at Sheidalin, and that raised too many flags. There was something going on with this guy, and Frederick needed to know what that was.
He’d come to Sheidalin with two goals in mind: first, to check out the employees, especially those who’d known Thorne a long time. Whoever had set this plan in motion knew Thorne well enough to know where to dig for his past. The second goal was to meet with Sally Brewster, the friend of Bernice Brown who’d been harassed by a detective. Frederick wanted to know why a detective had been looking for Thorne’s client. Miss Brewster should be arriving in twenty minutes, so he had a little time to dig into the employees before then.
‘How long have you known Thorne?’ he asked Mowry.
The assistant manager’s smile was wry. ‘If you’ve got a question about me, just ask.’ His smile slid into a full smirk. ‘You won’t find what you’re looking for any other way.’
Frederick’s lips twitched. ‘A challenge.’
A shrug. ‘Do your worst. Why are you here? I didn’t call for legal assistance.’
‘I needed to make sure everything was running smoothly. Gwyn and Thorne aren’t going to be able to give this place their full attention for a while.’
Mowry’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he didn’t call bullshit. ‘Look, I ran this club before Gwyn became the full-time manager. She did the books then, and some event planning, but she was mostly busy doing paralegal shit for Thorne. I was in charge of the day-to-day. She was basically a performer back then, like Lucy and Thorne are now. So I know what to do.’
The man was defensive, Frederick thought. And maybe a little bitter? ‘Did you take a pay cut when Gwyn took over?’
Mowry sighed, kind of impatiently. ‘Nope. Hold on a minute.’ He turned back to the door through which he’d come. ‘Laura?’ he called, and the bartender stuck her head out. ‘Can you finish the inventory yourself?’
‘Of course. Give me the iPad.’ She met him halfway, taking the tablet before giving Frederick a worried look. ‘Why are you here, Frederick? Is Thorne okay?’
‘He’s fine,’ Frederick assured her. Twenty-six years old, Laura had been born in Russia and had been adopted by a family in Virginia when she was an infant. Most of her Facebook photos were of her and her little boy. From what information he’d been able to gather, the toddler’s father was not in the picture. Laura’s mother was a big help, though. According to her employment records, which Thorne kept on file at the firm, Laura had missed not one shift in the six months that she’d worked for Sheidalin.
She gave him the same suspicious look that Mowry had. ‘Okay. I’ll be in the back if you need me,’ she added to Mowry before leaving them alone.
Mowry’s gaze had become perturbed. ‘If you’re looking for dirt here, you won’t find it. We are all loyal to Thorne.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Frederick said, and Mowry snorted.
‘Come on.’ He led the way to a table near the empty stage. ‘Let’s sit. I’ve got a long day ahead of me, so I’ll rest my feet now.’ He waited until Frederick had taken his seat, then launched them in an unexpected direction. ‘You know what happened to Gwyn, right? Four years ago?’
Frederick nodded. ‘I’ve seen the police report.’ He’d read how Gwyn’s boyfriend had been using her to get to Lucy because the man had a sick obsession for revenge, believing that Lucy had been involved in the death of his sister. She hadn’t been, of course, but others had. Those people who Evan wanted to kill had been truly bad, but Lucy had been caught in the crossfire. Gwyn had been an unwitting front for him, providing him with easy access to his prey. ‘She was abducted by a killer so that he could lure Lucy. Both Lucy and Gwyn were saved. Gwyn was credited with saving Lucy’s mother.’
Mowry gave him a disgusted look. ‘That’s all?’
‘That’s all there was in the report. All that concerned Gwyn, anyway.’
‘Exactly. See, nobody in the media ever goes back to find out how the victims of the crime are doing years later. Yes, Gwyn was saved, and yes, she saved Lucy’s mother. But she had to leave Lucy behind with a killer. Lucy forced her to.’
Frederick exhaled carefully. ‘I see.’
Mowry gave him a yeah-right look. ‘Do you? Do you really?’
Frederick nodded. ‘I was in the army. Special Forces. I had to leave a man behind once so that I could get two others out. I went back for him, but it was too late. He was dead.’ He swallowed hard, pushing the memory away when it knocked at the door of his mind. ‘He was my friend. One of my best.’
It wasn’t something he spoke of. Ever. But at least it had been the right thing to share, because Mowry’s expression softened.
‘Okay, so maybe you do. I don’t know how it affected you, but I do know how it affected Gwyn. She was duped by a man who claimed to love her. She had hearts in her eyes for the first time.’ He shook his head. ‘I always thought she and Thorne would end up together. I was pretty shocked when she brought this Evan guy in.’
‘What did you think of him?’
A sigh. ‘I wish I could say I hated him, that I thought he was “off”. But I didn’t. He fooled me too. I got on with him. We went to ball games together. He was a likable guy.’
‘Evil often wears a pretty face.’ How well Frederick knew that. Taylor’s mother had duped him for years. So he supposed he understood Gwyn better than he’d realized.
Mowry’s chuckle was hollow. ‘Evan did. And Gwyn believed him. She . . . used to be different. Vibrant. Alive.’
‘Not dark and sarcastic?’
‘If you only knew. See, you met her on her way out of the worst of it. After Evan, she imploded. She wouldn’t perform. For anyone. Lucy wanted her to sing at her and JD’s wedding, but she couldn’t.’ His sigh was ragged. ‘I found her at the piano one day. Nobody was here and it was dark. She was crying because she couldn’t make herself put her hands on the keys.’
‘She did last summer. I saw the tape of a wedding for which she and Lucy provided the processional music. It was beautiful.’
‘Yeah, well, like I said, she’s been coming out of the dark place. She’s been singing. And recently she’s been doing the silks.’ He pointed at a contraption on the stage, a twenty-foot-tall A-frame with two long pieces of white silk dangling from the highest point. ‘It’s like Cirque du Soleil. Gwyn is damn graceful. I have to admit, the first time she got back on the stage, I cried like a baby.’ One side of his mouth lifted. ‘I wasn’t alone. Not a dry eye in the house. She’s well loved here. So when Thorne asked me to back off my daily duties and allow Gwyn to take over, I did. Not that it was easy, mind you, but I didn’t argue.’
‘But you didn’t want to back off.’
‘Not at the time. And sometimes I get a little annoyed, still. But Thorne’s a mensch. He knew I hated being idle. He also knew I’d never gotten to go to college, so he’s paid for me to go. I take classes part time. One more year and I’ll have my degree in hospitality. I can write my ticket.’
‘Will you leave Sheidalin?’
He smiled. ‘Probably not. I like it here. It’s home, and Gwyn, Thorne and Lucy are my family. None of us had much family of our own, so we banded together. So you don’t have to come here and look over my shoulder, Freddie. I know my business and I do my job well. I love those guys. We all do, all of the employees. We won’t let them down.’
‘So you don’t think Thorne did it. The murder, I mean.’
Mowry scoffed. ‘Please. You really need me to say it? No, he didn’t. Full stop.’
‘And the other employees? Are they as certain as you are?’
‘Ask them. Ming!’ he shouted. ‘Laura! Come out here, please.’
The two came from two different doors. Ming from the main office in the back, while Laura returned from the storeroom.
Ming was the head of security – aka ‘the bouncer’ – and every bit as big as Thorne. His real name was Clive, but Frederick didn’t think anyone called him that out of sheer fear. He had been with Sheidalin from the very beginning. He and Thorne had played college rugby together. When Thorne had needed muscle, Ming had been the first person he’d turned to. The man was the most upstanding citizen you could think of. Took care of his mother, went to church, and did unpaid work with Meals On Wheels. He even volunteered to hold the abandoned babies of drug addicts in the neonatal wards of the local hospitals, posting photos on social media of the tiny creatures in his enormous hands.
The sight had made Frederick’s eyes tear up. But Ming knew Thorne better than almost anyone, excluding Jamie and Phil, so he was on Frederick’s suspect list.
The two of them dragged chairs to the table and Ming put his tablet in front of him. It showed the camera feeds, Frederick realized. The security man was vigilant.
‘What’s up?’ Ming asked cautiously.
‘He’s worried about the day-to-day,’ Mowry said, one brow raised. ‘Since Thorne and Gwyn are out for a while.’
Frederick nodded, well aware that the other two hadn’t bought the excuse either. ‘Yes. So . . . is there anything you need in order to function?’
‘No,’ Laura said. ‘I just finished the inventory and placed the order.’
‘And I just finished this week’s schedule,’ Ming added. ‘So far so good. Nobody’s quit and none of our booked bands have cancelled on us.’
‘There’s notoriety in playing Sheidalin right now,’ Mowry said.
Frederick figured that was true. ‘I understand there was some trouble last night.’
‘No more than usual,’ Ming said. ‘We toss drug dealers out three times a week on average. These guys were opportunists. Figured they’d give it a try since Thorne was . . . well, not here.’
Mowry’s eyes flashed. ‘Sons of bitches,’ he grumbled. ‘But seriously, we have this covered. Yes, we’re getting a lot of media exposure right now, but we’ll make it work for us. Thorne and Gwyn don’t need to worry.’
‘They weren’t,’ Frederick said. ‘I was.’
Ming gave him a dubious look. ‘Who made you the boss?’
Frederick smiled at that. ‘Old habits die hard. I’m kind of used to taking charge, and I like Thorne. He’s a good man. I’d like his businesses to be intact when he comes back. Having said that, I’ve got some law firm business to take care of. I arranged a meeting with someone here. I hope that’s okay.’
‘Make yourself at home,’ Mowry said. ‘If you need privacy, we can make ourselves scarce for a while.’
‘Thank you.’ Frederick checked his watch. ‘She should be arriving soon.’
Ming glanced at his tablet. ‘I think she’s here.’ One of the camera feeds showed a woman approaching the backstage door. ‘How did she get to the alley? There are news vans all up and down the street.’
One point for Sally Brewster. She listened and complied with instructions. ‘I told her to park at the movie theater and cut through the bookstore next door. They let her out their alley door. Said they owed Thorne a favor, so they were okay with it.’
Frederick stood up, wondering if these three could really be as loyal as they seemed. He hoped so, because Thorne deserved loyalty. ‘Thanks for putting my mind at ease. If you end up needing any help, please call me.’ He gave them his card. ‘My cell’s on there. I’m serious about wanting to help Thorne. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to let my appointment in before the news vans see her.’