Deceived (Private Justice Book #3): A Novel (15 page)

“Tell him I’ll be right there.” He shifted back toward Diane, grateful for the interruption. “I need to take this. The air conditioner’s been struggling, and I want to get our landlord to send out a heating and cooling technician.”

“I can see myself out.” She started across the deck.

He followed her in silence, but as they reentered the house, he touched her arm. “I’ll call you soon. Do you have any plans for tonight?”

A spark of hope ignited in her eyes. “No.”

“I don’t know what Todd’s going to want to do. We could end up at the go-kart place. But as soon as I know, I’ll be in touch. If you’re still free . . . we can talk about it.”

He expected her to jump at his vague offer, but to his surprise, her eyes cooled a few degrees.

“We’ll see.” With that, she called out a good-bye to Todd and strode toward the door.

She was miffed at all his hedging and ambiguity . . . and he didn’t blame her.

Expelling a breath, he walked toward the phone. He wished he could be more definitive about their relationship instead of dodging and weaving around the issue.

But until he got his head around her news and put together a plan, this was the best he could do.

Connor flipped over the final page of the report Kate had given him last night, set the papers in a neat stack on his kitchen table, and frowned.

After poring over the medical examiner’s findings, incident and collateral reports, and the crime lab’s controlled substance analysis, he could understand why the official ruling in John Marshall’s death had been accidental drowning. The external exam had revealed a sizable wound on the back of the man’s head, so it was reasonable to hypothesize he’d stood, lost his balance, fallen backward into the outboard motor, and overturned the small boat as he pitched into the water. The internal exam findings were also consistent with drowning. Hyperinflated lungs heavy with water. Foam in the airways. Water and sediment in the stomach. Blotchy and irregular lividity on head, neck, and anterior chest, in keeping with the head-down position of a body suspended in water. Plus, all the toxicology tests had been negative. No drugs or alcohol involved.

On the surface, the conclusion appeared to be a no-brainer on a number of fronts. Drowning was the fourth leading cause of accidental death in the U.S. According to Kate’s statement—the only one in the file other than a few sentences from the boat rental clerk—John Marshall had been a respected doctor, a pillar of his community, a churchgoer, a loving father and husband. He’d had no enemies. He’d been found with his wallet intact, ruling out robbery. There was no reason to suspect foul play.

But in hindsight, a lot of things didn’t add up.

Why had Kate’s husband taken off his life jacket—and his son’s?

Why was there a boy in St. Louis who matched the age-progression photo of Kevin—and who used a term unique to Kate’s son?

Why did Greg Sanders seem nervous in the mall video?

What had prompted Sanders to move from Ohio to the backwoods of Montana three years ago?

If the boy who resembled Kevin really was the man’s son,
why did he appear to be younger than he should be, given the timing of Sanders’s wife’s death?

This thing was getting more and more complicated.

Connor rose, stretching. Barely past nine, and he’d already been up for three hours. Too bad his hour-long jog and half hour of weights hadn’t burned off more of the restless energy generated by his visit with Kate last night and his fretful slumber. What little he’d managed to vanquish through exercise had returned in full as he reviewed the file.

He needed to talk through the case. Do some brainstorming. Get a fresh perspective.

And he knew just the person to call.

As he headed for the kitchen to scrounge up a frozen breakfast sandwich, he pulled his phone off his belt and tapped in a single speed dial digit. Two rings in, Dev answered.

Connor dispensed with a greeting. “You busy?”

“No. It’s Laura’s Saturday to work at the library. What’s going on?”

“You up for some one-on-one?”

“Hmm. Let me guess. You’re working on the little boy case and want to bounce some stuff off me. Pardon the pun.”

“Good deduction.”

“It’s elementary, my dear Sullivan. You only call me on Saturdays if a case is driving you nuts.”

“That’s because I respect your personal time.”

“Except when you have a hot case. But I could use the exercise. The usual place?”

“Yeah.” As far as he could remember from the schedule he’d scanned last week after coaching the youth basketball team, the church gym should be wide open. “Forty-five minutes?”

“I’ll be there. Prepare to be trounced.”

As the line went dead, Connor slid the phone back onto his
belt. He didn’t care how many jump shots Dev sank as long as he also jump-started some new ideas on the case.

Diane strolled through Macy’s, fingering the new fall fashions that had arrived since her last visit two days ago. Like she needed more clothes. She had two closetfuls already, thanks to the buying binge she’d gone on after she and Rich split. Thankfully, those urges had waned once her life became more normal, and they’d disappeared altogether after she met Greg.

But she’d been here three times during the past week, even though her support group had taught her shopping sprees were a futile coping mechanism. While a dress or a new pair of shoes might give her spirits and her ego a temporary lift, the boost never lasted.

Besides, who was she trying to kid? She might have walked out of Greg’s house with her head held high, might have played it cool and told him she’d think about whether she’d join them for dinner if he called, but she wouldn’t hesitate to say yes if he did issue an invitation—despite the fact it would be a lot smarter to decline.

Grabbing a silk blouse off the rack, she stalked toward the dressing room. Why was she letting herself be manipulated by another man? She’d been down that road, and the scenery wasn’t pretty. Greg might not be hitting her, but he was still trying to control her life, calling the shots, deciding when—and if—he’d communicate with her. If he had some kind of problem that didn’t relate to her, as he’d implied, why couldn’t he just be honest and tell her about it instead of jerking her around?

She marched into the dressing room and slammed the hanger onto a hook. She ought to swear off of men. For now, at least. Focus on getting a job, getting her life back under control, and learning how to feel positive about herself so she’d be less sus
ceptible to others’ opinions. That’s the message the leader of her support group always hammered home, and she was right. If Greg wanted to cool things for a while, maybe that was a blessing in disguise. She could use the break to get her act together while he worked on his own issues.

As she started to unbutton her blouse, the ringtone from inside her purse announced an incoming call.

Greg?

Her heart skipped a beat, and she grabbed her shoulder bag, fumbling the clasp. Once she had the phone in hand, a quick glance at the display confirmed it was him.

Now what?

As the phone rang again, she jabbed the talk button.

“Hi. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

Vulnerable
was a better word. Especially since his voice was warmer than it had been in days. She sank onto the chair in the small dressing room.

Be strong. Be cool. Be careful.

“No. What’s up?” At least she didn’t sound overeager.

“Todd made up his mind about his birthday plans. He talked to the kid next door, and they want to go to Chuck E. Cheese’s later this afternoon. I know that’s not the most appealing place for adults, but we’d both like it if you’d join us.”

Diane leaned her head back against the wall, trying to tune out the mother-daughter skirt-length argument in the next dressing room. She ought to say no, just to show him she wasn’t going to be at his beck and call or sit around waiting while he decided whether to summon her or not.

But she was tired of playing games. And she wanted to go. Even a noisy place that catered to kids was preferable to the quiet, lonely house that was far too big for one person.

As the silence lengthened, a weary sigh came over the line. “Look, Diane, I’m sorry things have been strained between us
lately, but I’ve got some issues with Todd. I think he and I need more time alone together until we get past this rough patch. The move was hard for him, and adjusting to daycare has been a challenge after being with me 24/7 for years. Plus, I think he’s worrying about starting first grade and meeting a bunch of new kids. I know we’ll get back in the groove soon. I’m just asking for a little space for a while, not trying to break things off. That’s the last thing I want. If it was up to me, I’d be seeing you every day.”

He sounded sincere. And how could she object to a father putting his son above his own needs and wants?

If Todd was having adjustment issues, however, she hadn’t seen much evidence of them aside from that one nightmare. The incident at the lake was a different matter altogether and not related to the nightmares as far as she could tell. Still, Greg would be a lot more tuned in to his son’s problems. See things she might never notice.

The important thing was he’d talked to her. Tried to explain his actions. That counted for a lot.

The tension in her shoulders ebbed. “I’ll meet you there.” That would give her some control over their get-together and allow her to leave when she chose. “What time?”

“Four o’clock?”

“Fine.”

“Todd will be glad to see you—assuming I can drag him away from the erector set. That was an inspired gift. One we both appreciate.”

Once more, the warmth in his tone sent a thrill through her, and her own voice thawed a few degrees. “It was my pleasure. I’ll see you there.”

As she dropped the phone back into her purse and retrieved the blouse, preparing to return it to the rack without trying it on, the conversation from next door wafted her way again.

“Wearing a skirt that short sends the wrong message.”

Dramatic sigh. “It’s a fashion statement, Mom. Nothing more. All my friends are wearing skirts like this.”

“Sorry. Your father would have a fit. I’m not dealing with that.”

A hanger banged against the wall. “I hate how you let him run your life! He’s such a control freak!”

The door in the adjacent dressing room slammed, rattling the walls, and the argument grew fainter as the occupants returned to the sales floor.

But the words
control freak
lingered in the air.

She knew all about those. Rich had run her life.

Was Greg made from the same mold?

Until a couple weeks ago, she’d have said no. But he’d been acting so peculiar lately. What if she was making a mistake? What if Greg turned out to be as bad as her ex, in a different way?

A chill rippled through her. No way was she walking back into a situation like that.

But she was committed for tonight, and she wasn’t going to disappoint Todd on his birthday. If she got any negative vibes at all during their outing, though, she was leaving—for good. She had enough problems to deal with in her own life without trying to figure out what made a certain construction worker tick.

Fingering the blouse, she returned the hanger to the hook and set her purse back on the chair.

Might as well try it on as long as she was here.

D
ev slam-dunked the ball, grabbed it after it bounced, and stuck it under his arm. “A little off our game today, aren’t we? That’s number three for me—but who’s counting?”

“I have another game on my mind.” Connor tipped his head and wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his T-shirt.

“No kidding.” Dev propped a fist on his hip. “Think you can focus on this one for ten more minutes? I’m digesting the download you gave me when we got here, but since I came all this way, I’d like to get in a decent workout before we dive into business.”

“Your place is only two miles from here.”

“And two miles back.” He tossed the ball over. “I’ll let you lead off. Maybe you can redeem yourself.”

Connor balanced the ball in his hands. Dev was right. They’d only been at this fifteen minutes, and his partner did some of his best thinking while he was in action, whether on the job or off.

So he’d give him action.

Crouching, he began to dribble the ball, keeping it low to the floor, left arm extended to ward off attack.

It didn’t take Dev long to make his move. He sprang forward and swiped at the ball—just as Connor expected. Holding the ball
at his hip, he did a reverse pivot, then continued dribbling down the court with the opposite hand, neatly sinking a jump shot.

Dev stopped and folded his arms. “Getting serious, I see.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yeah. Now that I know your head’s in the game, we’re gonna have some fun.”

Connor bounced the ball. “Your competitive streak is showing.”

“I like to win.”

“So do I.”

For the next fifteen minutes, Connor played hard as they pounded up and down the court. He faked a crossover when Dev came at him, disconcerting him long enough to go hard around his right side and score another jump shot. His jab step two minutes later threw Dev off balance, allowing him to drive to the hoop and do a layup.

Although Dev paced him step for step and did take the ball a couple of times, he only managed an air shot. Connor took possession of the ball on the rebound and landed a slam dunk.

Finally, breathing hard, Connor leaned over and rested his palms on his knees. “Had enough?”

Dev tossed him the ball, and Connor caught it with one hand as the other man wiped his face with the bottom of his T-shirt. “No. You’re one up. But I’m ready for a time-out. Your coaching gig here has improved your game.”

“I don’t know about that, but it
has
reminded me of the importance of strategy. And speaking of strategy . . .”

“Yeah, yeah. We can talk about the case now, but first I need some water.”

Ball under his arm, Connor led the way to the bleachers, pulled two large bottles out of his gym bag, and tossed one to Dev.

His partner caught it, twisted off the top, and chugged the whole thing.

Halfway through his own bottle, Connor recapped it and sat on the aluminum bench.

Dev joined him. “Here’s my take. Based on what you told me earlier about the police report, plus all the recent developments, I think the cops came to too many conclusions too fast. They went with the theory that since it looked like a rose and smelled like a rose, it must be a rose.”

“Like the burger Nikki brought me yesterday.”

“Good analogy. I hope you made up for it at dinner.”

“Yeah.” But his impromptu meal with Kate wasn’t on the agenda for today’s discussion. “In light of everything we’ve learned, I’m liking the head injury—and the assumption Kate’s husband broke his promise about wearing life jackets—less and less. It all strikes me as too convenient.”

Dev fished another bottle of water from the gym bag. “So what’s your theory?”

“I think the accidental death ruling is off base. With every piece of new information that turns up, this thing smells more like rotten garbage than a rose.”

“If it wasn’t an accident, there’s only one other explanation.” Dev twisted the cap off the bottle. “And to make that stick, you’d have to have a motive. Your client’s husband sounds like a Boy Scout. Why would anyone target him? And if someone did have him in their sights, why kill—or take—his son?”

Excellent questions.

Expelling a breath, Connor stood and began to pace. “Let’s think outside the box for a minute. The police assumed Kate’s husband overturned the boat when he fell, and that her son’s death was a tragic by-product. But suppose it wasn’t an accident. Suppose someone did have a reason to want her husband dead. Why not find a way to kill him without involving an innocent child?” Connor stopped. Frowned. “Unless . . .”

“Unless the child was the impetus for the whole thing.”

He swung toward his colleague. It was uncanny how their trains of thought often led them to the same destination. “Everything would fit.”

“But if your hypothetical killer was after the boy, there are a lot easier—and less risky—ways to kidnap a kid. And why your client’s son in particular?”

Shoving his fingers through his hair, Connor shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Dev took a swig of water. “Before you go too far down that road, it might be helpful to try and round up a picture of Sanders’s son. If you can find one, and it’s a close match to the kid in the mall, maybe it’s a look-alike situation with your client’s boy after all.”

“Too many other things still don’t fit, though.” Connor picked up his water again and twisted off the cap. “I agree we need to find out more about Sanders’s son. But let’s say we locate a photo—a serious challenge, since Sanders isn’t a social media kind of guy. I’ve already reviewed all the usual sites. And let’s say the photo’s obviously not a match. That would give our suspicions about the identity of the boy at the mall more credence, but it would also raise other questions.”

“Like where’s the real son?”

“Yeah. For starters.”

Dev leaned over to tighten a loose shoelace. “If I were you, I’d dig deeper on the doctor too. A loving wife’s opinion about her husband’s sterling qualities could be more than a little biased. He might have had enemies he never mentioned to her.”

“Or didn’t know about.”

“That too. But all that is a moot point if the boy at the mall ends up being Sanders’s son. Which would suggest that getting a photo of the boy is a top priority. If it doesn’t match the kid from the mall, you can follow up on your theory that someone took out the doctor. Dig deeper into his background.
Do the same with Sanders. Both their kids too. If there’s a link between all of them, it’s there, waiting for us to find it. It might require some extra hours, but hey—that’s why they pay us the big bucks.” Grinning, Dev stood. “Can I offer you any other nuggets of wisdom today, my son?”

Connor weighed the half-empty bottle of water in his hand. Their conversation hadn’t been long, but it had helped him sort through the muddle of information and nail down some clear next steps. He’d have gotten there eventually on his own, but this was one of the beauties of having smart partners. They helped each other cut through the clutter and formulate the most efficient strategy.

“You’ve done more than enough for one day. I owe you.”

“You can pay off the debt right now.” Dev retrieved the ball from the bleachers. “Give me a chance to even up the score.”

“You got it.” Connor finished off his water, tossed the empty bottle in his gym bag, and rejoined Dev on the court. He’d pound the boards for another fifteen minutes.

But as soon as they finished, he was heading home to do some serious digging for a photo of David Sanders.

“Hey, Dad, can Kyle and me have some more tokens for the arcade?”

As Todd and the kid from next door trotted up to the table he’d claimed in Chuck E. Cheese’s eating area, Greg dug into the stash of brass tokens he’d purchased. “Make them last awhile this time. I don’t have an unlimited supply.”

“When is Diane coming?”

“Soon.” He doled out tokens to each kid. “After you use ten more, come back. We’ll eat as soon as she gets here.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

The kids zoomed off again.

Greg jiggled his foot and looked toward the entrance of the entertainment facility, trying to tune out the raucous noise from the animatronic show in the background and the excited, high-pitched voices of the hundreds of frenzied kids darting about. At least it sounded like hundreds. And the noise level wasn’t helping the dull pounding that had begun in his temples during Diane’s visit this morning and intensified as the hours passed.

Why did Kate Marshall have a picture of Todd?

How had she gotten it?

What did she plan to do with it?

After rehashing those questions for hours, he was no closer to answers now than he’d been two minutes after hearing the startling news. But he needed to find them—and Diane was his only hope. She already had a connection with the Marshall woman. An in. The challenge was to convince her to help him.

And it was a formidable one, in light of her miffed reaction to his recent efforts to temporarily cool things down between them.

As he lifted his Coke and scanned the area again, he caught sight of her over the heads of a group of little girls. Rising, he waved until he caught her attention.

He watched as she wove through the clusters of chattering children and swiveled sideways, out of the path of a group of boys making a beeline for the arcade area. She looked trim and appealing in her jeans and silky blouse, every hair in place, her makeup perfect. Her ex-husband ought to be behind bars for the way he’d treated her. How could a man hurt a woman he said he loved? At least she’d dumped the bum. And despite her bad experience with men, she’d opened the door to a relationship with him.

Though judging by her taut posture, that door might be closing fast—and at the worst possible time.

He pulled out a chair as she approached. “Sorry about the setting, but it’s better than go-karts.”

“I’m sure the kids love it.” Setting her purse on the table, she slid into her seat and plaited her fingers, her shoulders stiff.

Not good.

“You look very nice. New blouse?”

Her brow wrinkled. “Yes.”

No smile. No thank you. Why would she take offense at a compliment?

Clueless, he changed the subject. “Thanks for coming. Todd and his friend are in the arcade, but he just stopped by to see if you were here yet. He was really excited about you joining us. In case you haven’t noticed, he’s one of your biggest fans.”

Her forehead smoothed out. “The feeling’s mutual. He’s a great kid.”

“Yeah, he is.”

Silence fell between them, and suddenly he was grateful for the din. It covered the awkward gap in conversation.

Odd. In the past, they’d had no problem chatting. Their easy give-and-take was one of the things he liked most about being with Diane. If there was an occasional lull in their conversations, she always filled it with a humorous story about her day or a question about his.

At the moment, however, she was making zero effort to communicate.

Another negative sign.

He gripped the cup of soda, his stomach churning. Might as well get to the subject that was front and center in his mind. The noise in the place provided excellent cover for a confidential discussion, and the kids wouldn’t be back for a few more minutes unless they ignored his warning and burned through their tokens.

Resting his forearms on the table, he leaned closer to her. “I’ve been thinking all day about that picture you saw in your job counselor’s office.”

She redirected her attention from a passing birthday party group to him. “Have you come up with any explanation?”

“No, but I’m more curious than ever. Where was it exactly?”

“In a file folder. She went out to get us some tea, and I decided to stretch my legs. As I passed her desk, my jacket caught the end of the folder and it flew off. The picture slid out as it fell.”

He bit back a word he knew she wouldn’t like. If the picture hadn’t been visible and Kate didn’t know Diane had seen it, how could she introduce it into conversation? Dig for information?

Greg sighed and took a long swallow of his drink. That probably hadn’t been a realistic strategy, anyway. If the photo was of Todd, as he suspected, and there was some sort of investigation going on, Kate wouldn’t talk about it with a client.

He set his drink back on the table.

“You’re worried about this, aren’t you?” Diane’s gaze was fixed on his fingers, and he looked down at them. They were trembling.

Wrapping them around his drink, he nodded. No sense denying the obvious. “Yeah. I wish there was some way to find out the story behind it. Thinking about a stranger having a picture of my son freaks me out.”

“I can understand that.” She tapped a polished nail against the surface of the table. “You know . . . this might be a crazy idea, but since Todd is adopted, do you think there’s any chance she could be his birth mother?”

His heart stuttered, and the breath jammed in his windpipe. “Why would you say that?”

“I don’t know what your adoption arrangements were or who you went through, but I read once that some agencies require adoptive parents to send pictures and stuff so the birth mother can follow her child’s progress. All without names, of course.”