Deceived (Private Justice Book #3): A Novel (21 page)

“I wish I
could
tell you that. But he wasn’t. That would be too easy.”

Some nuance in Cal’s inflection caught Connor’s attention. “You found something, though.”

Cal flashed a smile. “I was a crack detective once, remember?”

“You still are.” Nikki lifted her flavored water in a toast.

“Thank you.” He acknowledged the compliment with a mock salute, then addressed the whole group. “I didn’t expect Sanders to use his own name. Not if he was being careful about covering his tracks. So I asked Ed, the owner, if anyone on the list that day was a regular customer besides the doctor and his son. He said a Ralph Watson had become a regular in the weeks prior to the accident. When I asked him to check the days Marshall rented his boat, Watson’s name appeared too.”

Another spurt of adrenaline zipped through Connor. “Can you rent a boat without showing an ID like a driver’s license?”

“You can if the boat’s not motorized—or so Ed told me. Watson brought his own outboard motor and put a hefty sum
down as a deposit . . . in cash. The doctor always rented one with a motor.”

“I’m still struggling with the motive.” Dev dug around for any lingering fragments of chips in the bottom of the bag.

“Before we get back to the motive issue”—Cal sent Dev a quick glance—“I also tackled the second question you gave me.”

Connor leaned forward. “The one about where Sanders was for the four months he was off the radar?”

“Yeah. I can’t help you with the last three months, but for the first month he was camped out at two state parks with convenient access to Braddock Bay. I called the closest ones and was able to persuade the clerk on duty to look up the records. Get this—he left the second one the day of the accident.”

The room went silent for several charged beats.

“I think you need to get some hair for that DNA sample you mentioned to me a few days ago.” The empty bag crinkled in Dev’s hand, dumping salt onto the conference table.

“Especially if your client finds out her husband consulted on David Sanders’s case.” Nikki grabbed the chip bag from Dev and crumpled it in her hand as he gathered up the grains of salt.

“I agree.” Connor was already thinking along the same lines. “We may need to put surveillance on him and hope he goes to a salon to get the boy’s hair cut. Or, if he cuts it himself, we could resort to a trash cover.”

Dev made a face. “Those stink. Pardon the pun. Too bad we don’t have enough to turn this over to the cops or the FBI.”

“Yeah, but everything we have right now is circumstantial. DNA would be irrefutable.” Cal leaned back in his chair. “With surveillance in place, a haircut will be obvious to us as soon as it happens. If Sanders hasn’t taken him to a salon, we’ll know he did it at home and can target the night for the trash cover. Count me in.”

“Thanks.” Connor picked up his files and tapped them into a
neat pile. “I’ll get with Kate tonight and put together a surveillance schedule. Since our guy works all day, I think we’d be safe covering him from the time he picks up the boy at daycare until bedtime and during the day on weekends. That would coincide with salon hours.”

“How often do kids get their hair cut?” Dev asked.

“Every four to six weeks, depending on how particular a parent is.” Nikki stood and tossed the empty chip bag in the trash can. “I just had this conversation with a young mother at church. Does the boy your client spotted need a haircut?”

Connor pulled the photo he’d taken at the daycare center from his file. “It looks kind of shaggy to me.” He flipped it toward the group. “And with him starting school soon, my guess is our guy will have it cut soon—or cut it himself.”

“Then this shouldn’t take too long.” Cal collected the papers in front of him. “Let us know what your client hears from her husband’s receptionist.”

“I will.” Connor rose and picked up his own material. “Thank you all for your help today. I owe you a pizza lunch as soon as we wrap this up. Veggie with whole wheat crust for you—I know, I know.” He waved Nikki off before she could chime in.

They filed out, and once back at his desk Connor picked up the phone and punched in Kate’s number. She’d have called him if she’d heard back from the woman in her husband’s office, and at this hour she’d still be with a client. But he could leave a message about the latest developments from his end.

And he hoped when they connected once her workday was done, she’d have big news too. So far, all the pieces were fitting. Verification that her husband had seen David Sanders was the only missing link—other than a definite motive.

Unfortunately, that was a problem. Dev was right. Revenge against a doctor who couldn’t help your son was one thing. But why add kidnapping to the list? If the doctor was dead, he’d
never know his son had disappeared. And what could Sanders have against Kate—the person who would suffer most if her son disappeared?

They were missing some important piece of information, some critical insight about what made Sanders tick. He could feel it in his gut. And until they got a handle on it, the man was a loose cannon.

Because even though everyone they’d spoken with had sung his praises, if he was guilty of murder and kidnapping, there was a cold, ruthless, dangerous side to the man.

And once the walls began to close in on him, it could surface again—putting anyone who threatened to expose him at deadly risk.

S
orry to keep you waiting. All my meetings seem to be running long today.”

At Kate’s greeting, Diane rose from the chair she’d claimed in the New Start reception area, fingers clamped around her purse. “Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”

Kate extended her hand. “No problem.”

After prying her fingers free, Diane returned her firm shake in silence.

“Would you like a cup of tea, like last time?”

“No, thanks. I’m fine.”

Forcing herself to take a few deep breaths, Diane followed the New Start director back to her office. What on earth had possessed her to agree to this sleuthing gig? She wasn’t cut out for cloak-and-dagger stuff—and she didn’t owe Greg a thing, especially after his recent standoffishness.

Just another sign she was still trying too hard to please. Still letting herself be manipulated.

“Have a seat.” Kate gestured toward the comfortable sitting area as they entered her office, then moved to her desk to retrieve a notepad.

Diane’s step faltered as her gaze fell on the file beside the
notepad. Wasn’t that the same one she’d knocked to the floor during her first session?

Yes. One corner was bent.

Suddenly shaky, she forced herself to keep walking toward the chair she’d occupied on her first visit.

A few seconds later, Kate took the seat across from her and set a glass of water on a small side table.

Once again, Diane found herself staring.

Why were Kate’s fingers trembling?

She lifted her chin and scrutinized the woman’s face. She seemed to be a few shades paler than last week too. And the shadows under her eyes and tautness in her features were also new.

The woman who’d been kind enough to squeeze her in after hours looked exhausted—and stressed.

It seemed her clients weren’t the only ones dealing with pressure and worry and strain.

But was Kate’s anxiety sourced from her professional or private life?

Diane glanced at the wedding band on her finger. Kate had never mentioned her husband, nor were there any family photos on display in the office. Did she, too, have problems at home?

And where did Todd fit into the picture?

That was the question she was here to investigate—but as the counselor smiled at her, she squirmed. She was so not cut out for this. Prying into the woman’s personal affairs felt deceitful and underhanded . . . and dirty.

At the same time, the fact that Kate had Todd’s picture meant she had some knowledge of
Greg’
s
personal affairs.

Her attention drifted back to the folder on the desk. She could understand Greg’s worry. If some stranger had a photo of a child who belonged to her, she’d freak too.

Yet it was hard to believe Kate would be involved in anything nefarious.

“Diane?”

At the gentle prompt, she jerked her attention back to the woman across from her, a rush of warmth heating her cheeks. “Sorry. I’m a little distracted.”

“No problem. I’ve had my share of distractions recently too. Now what would you like to talk about today?”

The reason
you’re distracted too. And why there’s a picture
of Todd on your desk.

Instead of voicing those questions, though, she focused on the original reason she’d visited the center—to get some career counseling and connect with a job. Perhaps in the course of that discussion, she could find an opportunity to ask some questions about the picture of the little boy.

Forty minutes in, however, she’d had no chance to broach the subject—and time was running out. Kate had kept the conversation on topic during the entire session.

Maybe she should venture a bit into her own sordid history. That might give her an opening to ferret out some personal information about Kate too.

Worth a try.

At the first lull in the conversation, she plunged in.

“You know . . . I had a very good job before I married Rich. I often wonder what my life would have been like if I’d kept working. But to be honest, all I ever really wanted to be in those days was a wife and mother.”

Kate’s expression remained pleasant, but there was a hint of sadness in the depths of her eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with that. Both are noble roles.”

“Not when you’re married to an abuser like Rich.” Her heart began to pound as she put the truth into words for the first time with someone outside her support group.

As if sensing the significance of the moment, Kate leaned over and touched her knotted hands. “I’m sorry you had to go through that—but you’re taking proactive steps to fix the problems in your life and move forward, and that’s a positive thing. It requires a lot of courage to start over.”

Diane tipped her head, picking up some nuance in Kate’s tone that suggested that comment was more than a professional platitude. Was this her opening? “You sound almost as if you’ve walked this path yourself.”

“I have. Not the abuse part. My husband was amazing.” She touched the ring on her finger, then straightened her shoulders and picked up her pen. “But I know about starting over.”

She was preparing to redirect the conversation—but Diane wasn’t ready to get back to business. Not yet.

“You referred to your husband in the past tense. Is he . . . ?”

Kate’s throat contracted. “He was killed in a boating incident three years ago in New York.”

At the quiet words, shock rippled through Diane. Not what she’d expected. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you. I don’t often digress into my personal history with clients.” Kate studied her, as if debating how much more to say.

Diane leaned forward encouragingly. “You know, it helps to hear how others have overcome adversity. There have been days since I walked out on Rich when I think it’s just me against the world. Sometimes I get really depressed and anxious and lonely. My support group is great, but I’ve come close a few times to resorting to alcohol to take the edge off, like I did on the worst days during my marriage.”

“Don’t do that.” Eyes intent, Kate took her hand and gripped it. Hard. “Alcohol and drugs only offer a brief escape from problems. They don’t solve them. That’s not a healthy way to cope.”

Diane studied her. Why such a fierce response?

As if she’d read her mind, Kate took a deep breath. Let it
out. “I speak from experience on that topic, Diane. I couldn’t cope after the boating incident. I didn’t just lose my husband; my four-year-old son was with him. They never found Kevin’s body. I used Valium to help me get through the pain, but I got hooked. It took me months to wean myself off of it, to get my life back. Trust me—you don’t want to go down that road.”

Diane stared at Kate. The addiction revelation was surprising—but the news about her son sent a bolt of shock ripping through her.

One that kept building as parallels began to line up in her mind with almost military precision.

If Kate’s son had been four when he disappeared, he’d be close to seven now—and Todd had just turned seven.

Todd had had a disturbing encounter with a woman on an escalator whose hair was the same color as his—and the same color as Kate’s. A woman who’d lingered in his memory and appeared in his dreams.

At the picnic by the lake, he’d flipped out after the boat started to tip, exhibiting an abnormal fear of water—and Kate’s son had been lost on the water.

The body of Kate’s son had never been found.

Kate had a picture of Todd in a file on her desk.

Could all of that be more than coincidence? A
lot
more than coincidence?

No!

Greg couldn’t possibly be connected to Kate . . . or involved in anything underhanded. He’d adopted Todd as a baby.

At least that’s what he’d told her.

But . . . was it the truth?

Had he lied to her all along?

And if he had . . .

A shiver rippled through.

“Diane . . . I only told you that story to encourage you.” Kate
touched her hand again. “To illustrate that if I could survive all the stuff that was thrown at me, you’ll be fine too. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She nodded, struggling to untwist the knot in her stomach. “I appreciate that. I had no idea you’d dealt with such tragedy.”

“Most clients don’t. As I said, I don’t share my story very often. But I want you to know I understand how difficult life can be, and that you have an ally if you need one.”

She stood and walked over to her desk, where she scribbled on a business card. A moment later she returned and handed it over. “That’s my cell number. I know you have your support group, but if you begin to feel overwhelmed and need a friendly ear, I’m available too. Call me anytime, day or night. You won’t wake anyone up but me. I know all about loneliness too.”

Diane fingered the cardboard rectangle, pressure building in her throat. When was the last time anyone outside of her support group had offered to be there for her 24/7? She couldn’t remember. Certainly not Greg, though she’d hoped they might get to that point down the road.

But more and more, that road was beginning to seem like a dead end.

“Thank you.” She rose and tucked the card in her purse.

“You’re welcome. In the meantime, I’ll start lining up some specific job opportunities for you. Why don’t we set up another appointment for next week to discuss them and work on your résumé?”

“That would be great.”

Kate walked her to the deserted lobby, booked the appointment for her since the receptionist had gone home for the day, then shook her hand again.

“Remember. Call me between now and next week if you need to talk. I’m here for you.”

Tears choking her voice, Diane turned away and fumbled with the knob. “Thanks.”

Pushing through the door, she escaped down the hall and into the August evening.

More confused than ever.

Kate seemed sincere. Honest. Caring. She didn’t deserve whatever stress had caused the faint lines of tension beside her mouth and at the corners of her eyes that had developed over the past week.

Of course, she would have said the same thing about Greg’s recent haggard appearance too—until recently.

Now she wasn’t certain.

Maybe one of them
did
deserve the stress that had invaded their lives.

As to which one—she might have learned a lot about discerning nuances during her troubled marriage, but overall she had a better track record reading women than men . . . and she’d picked up no deceit in Kate.

As she approached her car, she popped the locks. Should she stick with her original plan and call Greg once she got home? Or sleep on it?

She didn’t have a clue.

But one thing was certain.

She was getting seriously creepy vibes about this whole thing—like the ones she used to get before Rich went ballistic.

The outcome in those days had always been bad.

Would the same be true in this situation—or was she overreacting? Blowing the whole thing out of proportion?

She wanted to believe the answer to those two questions was yes. That there was a simple explanation for the unsettling coincidences, and that everything was going to turn out fine.

Yet as she slid into the car, another shiver rippled through
her—because she couldn’t shake the ominous sense of foreboding that once again her life was about to change.

And not for the better.

Why had she shared so much of her personal history with Diane?

Shaking her head, Kate strode back to her office. That kind of disclosure had been very out of character. She could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she’d offered a client even a hint of the ordeal she’d endured over the past three years.

But Diane seemed so on edge, so in need of assurance that she was strong enough to make it past the turmoil she’d endured.

Unfortunately, since she’d seemed as on edge when she left as when she’d arrived, perhaps the soul-baring episode hadn’t helped anyway.

Much as she always worried about her clients, however, she had other priorities tonight—the call to Barbara being top of the list.

Back in her office, she circled her desk and punched in the woman’s cell number, praying for helpful news.

After two rings, she started tapping her foot. Three rings in, she accepted the inevitable. The call was going to roll to voice mail.

Resigned, she waited for the mechanical greeting to kick in—only to have Barbara answer.

“Sorry. I was maneuvering my way around a traffic accident.” As Barbara spoke, Kate could hear sirens in the background.

“Do you want to call me back after you get past the congestion?”

“No, I can multitask unless this gets hairy. Listen, not long after I sent you the answer to your question, the medical director of an insurance company contacted one of our doctors. That
prompted me to dig a little deeper. I don’t know how much John told you about this, but on occasion the practice gets a call if an insurance company’s medical director reviews a proposed treatment and doesn’t feel qualified to make a determination. In those cases, they often consult an expert in the field.”

Kate ran her finger along the edge of the file containing the age-progressed photo of Kevin. “I vaguely remember him mentioning that once or twice. As I recall, it wasn’t a situation he dealt with very often.”