Cold Case (15 page)

She closed her eyes and rocked back and forth trying to think what to do. She couldn't call the police. They would want to know why someone had searched. She couldn't tell anyone, she realized. Not unless she wanted to turn over the pictures.

As she rocked back and forth, she kept seeing her mother's anguished face when her father died. She had been so frightened for her mother, who had seemed to lose all interest in living. And her renewed anguish at Robert's death. What would it do to her now to have him revealed as a blackmailer? It would be like losing him again. And Travis? She had babysat him, considered him almost a brother, more than she had ever thought of Robert as a brother to protect and care for. If Nick killed Robert, had Chloe been involved? But you don't kill a blackmailer unless you have the material he was holding over you, she reminded herself, as she had many times since finding the pictures. She rocked back and forth and her chaotic thoughts swirled.

Eventually she rose from the bed and went to the bathroom to wash her face and hands. She had to go to the office, then collect her mail. She stopped moving again. A safe-deposit box, she thought. She would get a safe-deposit box and leave the pictures in it. She should have done it before. Dumb, dumb, she told herself. Stop being so dumb!

Her thoughts kept swirling. Aaronson must have searched her apartment, but there was no reason for him to have followed her to find David. Aaronson was not a threat to her or to David, at least as long as she had the pictures in a safe place. Suddenly she was glad that she wouldn't know where David was, no matter how much she wanted to see him. She couldn't lead anyone to him again. David was right, she thought—whoever had followed her could be a threat to them both.

S
teaks on the grill, baked potatoes, salad. Barbara decided she could manage that on Friday afternoon, heading for the supermarket. Darren was putting in overtime again, and he had warned her that it could be the norm for quite a while. Four interns to train, plus the usual routine and the catch-up work required after his absence of three weeks made for a demanding schedule.

“Why four?” she asked that evening, while the potatoes were baking, the steaks marinating. Darren was having a beer and she had Fumé Blanc.

“Sort of orders,” he said. “I told you about that major who came around to the board of directors meeting, didn't I?”

“No. When?”

“While I was in Alaska,” he said.

“Why? The last I heard, the clinic is a nonprofit corporation, not army affiliated.”

“From what I've been told, he said the magic words. Someone might question the charitable status, maybe it wouldn't go anywhere, but it could be time-consuming with a lot of paperwork, appearances, audits. The usual.” His voice was low, ominously low, the way it got when he was angry or upset. “We could bypass all that by accepting a couple of their people to train now and then.”

She stared at him. “He threatened you? The clinic?”

“Of course not,” Darren said, in that same low voice. “He made a suggestion. The army needs more trained therapists—we train therapists. A little cooperation goes a long way. They'll pay, naturally. We seem to have a contract with the federal government now.”

“What else?” she asked sharply. “Are they enlisted men?”

He shook his head. “Private contractors. And their corporate officers believe that a year or two is too long. Six months should be plenty of time.”

“The board accepted those terms?” She could not conceal her own anger through softening her voice or sounding musical. Darren always trained highly qualified and recommended interns who had completed satisfactorily all the prerequisite courses. It took at least a year, and quite often two, and he accepted only two at a time. Apparently selection would be out of his hands now and God alone knows what their qualifications would be.

“The board considered the alternative and accepted,” he said, and lifted his can. “Two for now, since I already have two, and then four at a time of their people. Sort of an open-ended contract.”

She did not miss it that he said “the board considered.” He was on the board. “Jesus! You didn't have a vote?”

“It's okay,” he said mildly. “But it does mean that for a while I'll be going in on Saturday and Sunday for a few hours.”

She interpreted that to mean the new interns were not qualified. “Have they had premed?”

“No.” He rose from the deck chair. “I did add a bit of a caveat. If, after six months, I don't believe they're well trained, I won't certify them.”

“And the consequences if you don't?”

“Actually we didn't get into that yet. Want me to start the grill?”

“Yes. I'll check on the potatoes and toss the salad,” Barbara said angrily.

In the kitchen, she jabbed a potato savagely, wishing it was a certain major she was skewering. What it meant, she thought then, was that Darren would not be able to train highly qualified and eager applicants, always far too many to accommodate. The two accepted were the cream of the crop assured of instant employment when they finished under his tutelage.

And after six months? She suspected there was not a member of the board who would hesitate to toss him overboard if it meant a choice between losing him or putting the clinic at grave risk. They would agonize over it first. She also knew that given that choice Darren would make the same decision, that he was expendable, the clinic wasn't.

Later, as they ate, Darren said, “You know that David is going to have to continue therapy? He has exercises to do on his own, and I want to see him next Friday. Is that going to be a problem?”

“I'll see that he gets to the clinic,” she said. “Is that arm going to heal, get back to normal?”

“I'm sure it will, but it's going to take time. Nerve damage is slow to recover fully. He said he didn't know where you plan to take him.”

“Shelley's house,” she said. “No one is supposed to know that. I'd rather not tell Todd, if that's all right.”

“Sure. He's coming home Sunday afternoon. I'll leave the clinic and go pick him up. Two, about then.”

She told him that she and Frank had to talk to David on Sunday. “We'll go on to Dad's house after that, and you and Todd can come over for dinner.”

Darren smiled. “We're going to have a rough time for quite a while, aren't we? Our first real test.”

“I'm afraid so,” she admitted. And that summed it up precisely, she realized. Their first real test as a couple.

On Sunday when she and Frank arrived at Shelley's house, they found David more relaxed than Barbara had ever seen him.

“The perfect hole-in-the-hill hideout,” he said, almost cheerfully when he greeted them. “Even my own private psychiatrist. He's been careful not to start diagnosing me just yet.”

Dr. Minnick smiled. “Argued a little, but no diagnosis. He—” he pointed to David “—holds up his end of an argument just fine. I think he likes it. I'll have to find the significance of that when I have time.”

“I thought we'd have our little conference in my office,” Shelley said. “Alex and Dr. Minnick can cool their heels where they want.”

Alex waved them away. “Secrets, nothing but secrets.”

Shelley led the way to her office, a spacious room furnished more like a living room than an office, with sofa, easy chairs, coffee table, wide windows overlooking the back of the property and her desk that was all but hidden under papers and books.

“They've made me feel like the prodigal son,” David said. “I think Dr. Minnick is fixing to fatten me up some.”

“A born nurturer,” Barbara said. “Now, on to business. I'll need the names of your dinner companions the night of the murder and an address for them. And I know it's a drag, but I want to ask the same kind of questions I expect Lieutenant Hoggarth will be asking. Keep in mind that you don't volunteer anything, just answer his questions. Okay?”

“Shoot,” David said.

“Exactly what was your relationship with Jill Storey?”

It went on for an hour. His answers were concise and to the point most of the time, and his story was what she had already heard from him with a little variation in the wording.

“You really think he'll dig into the past that much?” David asked when she leaned back, satisfied.

“He has to, or there's no motive. That file, your presence, Robert's renewed interest in Jill's murder. That's going to be his starting place. He's had several weeks now to carry on his investigation, ever since he knew that you would recover, and I have no idea how far he's gone, what he's been told. He's a good investigator, and he'll have been as thorough as possible. If they arrest you and turn over discovery, I'll have some answers, but until then we're in the dark. I doubt that he'll connect the attack on you with Robert's murder, especially if Dressler has determined to his satisfaction that it was a random hate crime.”

“We'll be there,” Frank said. “If Milt strays too far afield, we'll stop him. You won't be under oath, but your testimony can be used against you in the future, so you'll want to be careful not to lose your temper and to curb your tendency to let sarcasm color what you say. You realize, I hope, that you do have such a tendency.”

“So I've been told,” David said. “I'll work on it.”

“At least try,” Barbara said with resignation. She suspected that he had no idea how often he slipped over that particular edge.

David shrugged. “Try harder, you mean. I promise.”

“Moving on,” Frank said. “This interview will be preliminary, not the formal statement they'll demand if they decide to charge you. And if they go that far, an arrest will follow, arraignment, hearing for bail bond. We'll be with you every step of the way.”

“How much bail?” David asked.

“We don't know,” Barbara said. “I'm going to try to keep it low, but without it you'll be in jail awaiting trial.”

He shook his head. “I hadn't put that on my list of expenses,” he said after a moment.

They discussed a possible trial date, and agreed that before the end of the year would be best. “That means by the end of November,” Barbara said. “Judges hate to start capital cases close to Christmas, because jurors became annoyed if their holiday shopping and other preparations are too disrupted.”

David laughed.

They wrapped it up soon after that and Barbara and Frank turned down invitations to stay for a drink, snacks, dinner, anything else at all. “Stop,” she said. “You haven't offered chocolates, and that's my weakness. No, we'll be on our way. Things to do. See you tomorrow,” she said to Shelley. “I'll be in touch as soon as I know when Hoggarth will be around,” she added to David, and she and Frank left.

“What do you think?” she asked Frank, driving to his house.

“Milt could turn mean with him,” Frank said. “Depends on David's attitude.”

She nodded. “He's been warned.”

“What else is bothering you?” Frank asked then.

She told him about the clinic. “It takes two years if the intern has no medical background at all, just the desire. One year for someone who's done premed. And the bozos they're bringing to Darren? Who knows? Mercenaries off the street? Maybe.”

He made a low throat noise, cleared his throat, then said, “We live in ugly times, Bobby. They're running roughshod, out of control wherever they can get away with it.”

They were both silent for the next several minutes, then Frank said, “Turn off at Greenhill, go to Alvadore. Early Elbertas are in. Too early, maybe, and not as good as late peaches, but I want some anyway.”

Crazy weather, global warming, government out of control, Iraq…Ugly times, Barbara reflected, slowing down to turn onto Greenhill Road.

“I hate to get Bailey involved before we even know if we'll have a case to defend,” Barbara said on Frank's porch a little later after they had laid out the plans for the coming weeks. “But, neither do I want to wait any longer. I've noticed that November comes charging along pretty fast.”

“We shouldn't wait,” Frank agreed. “We're in, and I assume a charge will come along.”

“Right. Hoggarth's questions will give us an idea about what they have. There's no forensic evidence to link David with either death. No DNA, no fibers, no eyewitness, nothing.”

“So they rely on opportunity and motive,” Frank said. “Many cases have been won on no more than that.”

“I know. But I also know it's easier to shoot down a case with no more than that. I'm counting on nothing more turning up. Maybe that's too strong. I'm hoping nothing more turns up. It sure would be fine if Robert had been the kind of guy who makes bitter enemies with murder in their hearts, but there's no sign of that. A go-along, get-along sort of guy, everyone's pal. No doubt a little corruption, some shady deals along the way, maybe influence peddling, money under the table, a bit of philandering. But nothing really big-time.”

Frank went inside to make a peach cobbler, and she continued to sit on his porch, surveying his garden. Weedless, neat, beautifully tended. She compared it to the garden in Darren's yard, and had to fight back a surge of guilt. She had weeded it half-heartedly a time or two during Darren's absence, but mostly she had forgotten it. A garden needed constant weeding, she had come to realize. Abruptly, she stood and went inside for a glass of wine.

That evening they had what Frank called an old-fashioned country dinner—ham, potato salad, a green salad, snap beans, sliced tomatoes and corn bread, topped with a peach cobbler. He had made an incredible amount of everything. There were plenty of leftovers for the noncooks.

As they ate Todd talked excitedly about the science project he had decided to put together. “See, it's going to be in two parts, a slide show of the glaciers and how much they've melted already, and how much the sea ice has melted. You know, polar bear habitat. With commentary. That's part one. For the other part I need two clear glass things, jars or something, with straight sides, and the same size. I'll put a brick or something like that with a block of ice on it in one, and the same size ice in the other one, not on anything. Then fill them both to the same level with salt water. One represents sea ice and the other one glaciers on land. Then let the ice melt. Sea ice won't make the water rise, but the melting glacier will. Then I'll measure the salinity again to show that it's not as salty as before, and that kills a lot of things that live in salt water. Climate-change demonstration.”

He looked triumphant and obviously enjoyed the approval the others voiced for his project. “You're doing your part,” Frank said. “That's a very fine project. If you need help finding your containers, give me a call. I have plenty of time to help you scout them out.”