How Secrets Die (17 page)

“At a guess, it wasn't planned.” His fingers moved absently on her arm. “Somebody wanted to know what you were doing there and decided to take advantage of the isolated spot.”

Just as Jason had apparently taken advantage of the isolation the night he died. And he was beginning to get some funny ideas about that death.

“Kate, tell me something.” His hand tightened on her arm. “If Jason was staying clean, the way you think, what might he have done if someone tried to get him back into the drug scene?”

Her eyes widened as the import of the question penetrated. “I... I don't know, not for sure. You're thinking the dealer considered him a threat?”

“I'm wondering if it's possible.”

“But what you're saying—that means his death might not have been suicide.”

“Just a speculation, that's all,” he said quickly. “There's not a shred of evidence of anyone else having been there with Jason, and I wouldn't know where to begin looking for any.”

He could see how the idea rocked her, making him wish he hadn't spoken.

“If I could believe he didn't take his own life...” She let that trail off, a new vulnerability in her eyes.

“It's just a possibility,” he said gently, not wanting her to build too much on something that was barely a theory. “Does it make so much difference?”

In answer she studied his face. “You've never lost someone close from suicide, have you?”

“No. But even so—”

“You can't imagine it, then. Suicide...the victim ends his or her pain, I guess. But for the survivors, the pain is just beginning. The questioning. The guilt. If only. That becomes your mantra. If only I'd done this or that. Or not done something else.”

Her pain was palpable. He took her by the arms, searching for some way to ease it. “Kate, either way, you can't keep blaming yourself. It wasn't your fault.”

“But it was.” Her eyes were dark with pain. “You don't know.”

“Tell me,” he said. He drew her a little closer, hands gentle, fearing that the smallest misstep could hurt her even more.

She shook her head, but more from helplessness than from a refusal to speak. “It doesn't help. I've gone over it again and again.”

“You tried to protect Jason. You were hardly more than a kid yourself.” His heart hurt for her.

“Tom wanted Jason to go to the university. I was afraid a big school would be too much for him. That he'd be better off at a smaller school. Jason and I figured it all out. He was afraid of the pressure, of trying to keep up, of being lost in the crowd, so he was going to live with me and commute.”

“I take it your stepfather got his way.” He did his best to sound noncommittal.

“Oh, yes. Jason always wanted to please him, you see. When I objected, things really blew up between me and Tom. We both said more than we should have. Poor Jason. He couldn't stand seeing the two people he loved at odds. So he said he wanted to do as his father said.” She put her hands to her face for a moment, as if she didn't want to see that scene again. “I was hurt and stupid. I reacted by walking away. Took a job in Baltimore, told myself that it was best. Maybe Tom was right. Maybe Jason needed a new beginning. Instead he found a refuge in prescription drugs.”

Her voice seemed to die, and her lips quivered.

“You couldn't have done more than you did. You did your best for your brother.” Even as he said the words, he knew they wouldn't comfort her.

Kate put her hands to her face again, and this time he saw the tears. With an inarticulate sound of pity, he drew her against him. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her while sobs racked her body.

“It's all right,” he murmured. “You did what you could.”

It wasn't enough. It was never enough.

Kate's face was pressed against his chest. He felt her tears soak through his uniform shirt and laid his cheek against the top of her head. What was it Mom said about helping people who'd lost someone? Sometimes all you could do was be there. Well, he was here, for whatever it was worth.

After several minutes the sobs lessened. Kate turned her head, her cheek against his chest. “Sorry,” she murmured.

“Don't be,” he said.

She drew back a little and managed a smile. “I got your shirt all wet.”

He wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “It'll dry.” His hand moved, cupping her cheek. “Kate...”

Whatever he'd been going to say got lost when he looked into her tear-wet eyes. Slowly he lowered his face and found her lips with his.

Gentle at first. Comforting. That's all that was intended. But then her lips moved against his, inviting, welcoming, and passion took over.

He kissed her lips, her neck, the curve where her neck met her shoulder. Kate pressed against him, her hands moving on his back, drawing him closer, as if they couldn't possibly be near enough.

His imagination crossed the few feet to the bedroom, the welcoming bed—

And he seemed to hear a defense attorney in his head.
So you had sexual relations with this witness, Chief Whiting. How do you expect the jury to believe that your testimony is unbiased in this case?

Groaning, he pulled back. Still holding her close with one hand, he pushed her hair back from her face with the other. “We have to stop.”

She gave him a tantalizing smile. “We do?”

He held on to his sanity with an effort. “As long as there might be a case pending against someone in Jason's death or the attack on Larry, I can't risk tainting your testimony.”

He saw her reluctant agreement. She pulled back slowly.

“Until the case is settled,” he said, as if promising himself.

Something seemed to shutter her eyes. “When the case is settled, it will be time for me to leave.”

He took a step back. “Maybe you could find a reason to stay.”

“Maybe.” But he could see in her eyes that she didn't believe it.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

K
ATE
LEANED
BACK
on the sofa, holding a cold glass to her forehead. Her eyes were hot from the tears she'd shed, and her throat was still tight.

What had she been thinking, seeking comfort so readily from Mac? She never jumped into relationships, and she hardly knew him. But even as she thought the words, she realized it wasn't true.

Because of the circumstances that had brought them together, she knew more about him than she would in months of casual dating. They'd skipped right past the light, getting-to-know-you stage. She knew Mac at a bone-depth level—seeing his fierce integrity, his overwhelming sense of duty, even the family life that had made him who he was.

In a way, that made it more important to take her time, because nothing between them could be casual. It was either real or it was nothing.

Kate moved the cool glass to her cheeks, pressing it against first one and then the other. How embarrassing was it that Mac had had to be the one to pull back?

Her cell phone jingled, and her heart jumped. Mac? But a quick glance at the caller told her no. Morris Vail was returning her call, presumably with the results of his research into the financial partnership.

“Morris. I thought you'd never call.” She could concentrate on this and keep thoughts of Mac at bay for a few moments, anyway.

“Hey, Kate. Listen, you gave me a tough job with looking into this Laurel Ridge Group.”

She could picture him, leaning back in his swivel chair, one pair of glasses on top of his balding head and another probably perched on his nose.

“So it was hard. I knew if anyone could do it, you could. You have more contacts than anyone I know.”

He chuckled. “That's right. Butter me up. I deserve it. I had to fish pretty deeply to come up with anything, but I finally found someone in the area who knows where the bodies are buried.”

“I'll bet.” He always knew someone.

She heard papers shuffling. Morris never kept his notes electronically, preferring dozens of slips of paper and countless sticky notes.

“Okay, here we go. Long-established family firm, excellent reputation, headed for years by Russell Sheldon, who's apparently above reproach. At least, that's how things were for a number of years.”

“Until when?” All her senses went on alert.

“My sources couldn't pin it down, but it sounds as if things started to slip in the past couple of years. Nothing solid, but the kind of vague rumors that would make the knowledgeable think twice about entrusting them with any investments.”

At last, someone who wasn't singing the praises of Laurel Ridge Financial. “So do these rumors hint at incompetence or wrongdoing?”

“Take your choice.” Kate could almost see him shrug. “It's impossible to know from the outside. It would take a serious look at the books. And when I say books, I mean records. They'll be digital, of course.”

Her mind worked feverishly. Was this a break at last? She formed her next question carefully. “So if someone smart and competent had access to the records, would he spot it?”

Morris hesitated. “At a guess, and don't quote me on this, incompetence would show up in those circumstances.”

“What about fraud?” If someone at the company had been lining his pockets at the firm's expense and Jason found out, that person would have a strong reason for wanting to be rid of him.

“That depends,” he hedged.

“On what?”

“On how skilled the perpetrator was. And how smart the investigator was.”

Jason was smart, all right. “But how could you go on hiding a thing like that?”

“Oh, it would come out eventually. You can only hide those missing funds so long. For instance, a full audit would turn it up. Whether a cursory look would tell anyone anything—well, that I don't know.” She could almost hear his smile. “Not unless I could get a look myself, but I'm not breaking any laws, not even for a gorgeous girl like you.”

“Now who's the flatterer?” She responded automatically, her mind busy with this new concept.

“Not flattery when it's true,” he said. “But seriously, if you're thinking of investing, I'd go elsewhere.”

“What do I have to invest?” she scoffed. “I'm working on a story, that's all.” He didn't need to know the rest of it.

“I thought you inherited when your stepfather died. You could build up a nice little retirement fund with smart investing now.”

“If I decide to, I'll talk to you first,” she promised.

“See that you do. So, what are you doing with yourself these days? Anything new on the job front?”

“Not really.” She was evading the subject, and he probably knew it.

“What about the freelancing you were doing? Given the way things are going with print publications, that might be a way to go, if you have a nest egg to keep you going until you start making some money.”

“You might have something there.” Kate rubbed her forehead. What had happened lately to her early goals? When she'd finished her degree, she'd thought she was going out to change the world with her reporting.

Now—well, now, she'd be happy to right just one wrong.

* * *

M
AC
HEADED
DOWN
the hospital corridor on Monday morning, trying to decide what he had so far in terms of actual facts. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to amount to a lot. Despite the DA's vocal determination, Mac couldn't say for sure that the assault on Larry had anything to do with drugs. Suspicion wasn't proof.

According to the doctor he'd finally nailed down this morning, Larry was conscious for short periods, but not saying anything of importance. Mac decided he'd rather decide for himself whether it was important or not.

He paused at the door to the hospital room. Ethel, in a padded chair to the left of the bed, seemed to be sleeping, head tilted and mouth agape. On the other side, one of his part-time patrolmen, George Danvers, in a less-comfortable chair, sat leafing through a copy of the
Pennsylvania Game News
.

Larry, the center figure in the tableau, was looking better than the last time Mac had seen him. His color was good, and he was breathing on his own. Aside from the fact that the curls on one side of his head had been replaced by a white bandage, he looked fairly normal.

Mac stepped into the room softly, but George dropped the magazine instantly, nodding when he saw who it was. Mac moved to him quietly.

“Has he said anything?”

“Just asked for his mother.” George surveyed Larry's face dispassionately. “If you ask me, I'd say he's shamming—looking for sympathy and putting off any chance of questioning.”

He wouldn't put it past Larry, but he couldn't push, not against the doctor's orders to the contrary. Not unless he wanted a case thrown out of court.

“Anyone try to come in who shouldn't?”

George shook his head. “Nobody but a couple of girls who graduated with him. His mother made short work of them.”

“Well, stay alert. We still have no idea who assaulted him.”

“Nobody will get past me without proper hospital credentials, believe me.” George was comfortably confident—he'd lived long enough to have had several experiences of hospital routine, unlike Johnny Foster. That was the main reason Mac had assigned him.

He hadn't had much choice. Hospital security couldn't be everywhere at once. Still, he hated to think what it was doing to his department budget for overtime.

Mac's phone buzzed, the sound jerking Ethel awake. She sat upright, frowning at the disturbance, and leaned over Larry protectively.

He could take a hint. Mac slipped out into the corridor before answering. The call was from the station, and he automatically went into business mode. “Whiting.”

“It's me, Chief. I mean, Foster.” Johnny made an effort to emulate Mac's tone, but excitement crept in. “I did it!”

“Did what?” The range of possibilities seemed endless.

“Found a photo of Ax Bolt.”

Okay, the excitement was justified. Mac had felt hamstrung with nothing but a verbal description to go by.

“What? Where'd you find it?” He'd thought they'd exhausted all the possibilities.

“DMV,” Foster declared.

He must be failing. He should have thought of that himself before he'd ventured on a search of police records.

“I just thought to myself, who would have a picture of me—”

Mac didn't want to listen to a blow-by-blow of Foster's thought processes.

“Send it to me now. And to hospital security. Right away.”

“Will do.”

“And, Foster, good work.”

“Thanks, Chief.”

In another minute he had the image on his phone. He studied it for a moment before heading back toward the room. Bolt had none of Larry's innocent choirboy looks. If he'd seen him, Mac would have remembered. Dark hair, long in the back but shaved at the sides, a gold stud earring and tattoos that extended up his neck. Yes, he'd have noticed.

Mac strode into the hospital room, feeling renewed energy. He showed George the image. “This is the guy we're looking for. You see him, you call in, right away. Don't try to tackle him yourself.” He didn't want a fiftyish, overweight, out-of-shape part-timer going up against the person who'd put that dent in the back of Larry's head.

George nodded.

Ethel leaned across the narrow bed toward them. “What is it? Show me! It's evidence against that Kate Beaumont, isn't it?”

Mac clung to the shreds of his patience. “Ethel, I've already explained that Ms. Beaumont couldn't have attacked Larry. She didn't have time.”

“So you say. Taken in by a pretty face, that's all. Let me see.” She snatched at the phone, but Mac held it out of reach. He noticed what she apparently hadn't—that Larry had opened his eyes and was watching them.

“This is the person we think attacked your son.” He swung the camera screen in front of Larry's face. “What about it, Larry?”

There was no mistaking Larry's reaction. His eyes widened in fear, his face going white.

Then, with a quick sidelong glance at his mother, he collapsed back on the pillow, eyes closing.

“Now, look what you've done.” Ethel reached for the call button. “Don't worry, baby. Mommy's here.” She patted his face, crooning over him.

Mac exchanged glances with George. They both knew what they'd seen. “Sorry to leave you with the fallout,” Mac murmured. “But I have to get moving on this.”

George nodded, as Mac fled the room. There was someone else who had to see this photo right away, and that was Kate.

He drove down Main Street, wondering how far he dared push his suspicion of Bolt. Not as far as an arrest, certainly, but enough to bring him in for questioning. And enough to alert neighboring police departments. Someone must know where he might be found.

He was headed for Blackburn House, assuming Kate would have gone to work this morning, but before he reached the drive, he spotted her on the other side of the street, going into the Buttercup Café.

Pulling into the nearest space, he got out and crossed the street to follow her into the café.

Kate was already standing at the counter, waiting for her order. He joined her, exchanging greetings with the Amish girl who was working today—one of the many relatives of the owner.

Kate looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Time for a coffee break, Chief?”

He grinned, relieved that they seemed to be back on a friendly basis. “I was about to ask you the same thing.” He gestured toward the crullers the girl was putting into a box.

“Emily decided we deserved something special today, so she asked Allison and Sarah to join us for coffee.”

“Who's going to watch the shops?” he asked.

“Apparently Monday is quiet enough to prop a sign on the door and take a break.” If she disapproved, he couldn't tell it from her expression.

He studied her, wondering. Did she regret having confided in him about her guilt over Jason's death? He'd never really thought before about how much suicide impacted the survivors. How did a person get over it?

Maybe in the same way he got over his grief in a situation where he hadn't been able to save someone. Never getting over it, just learning to live with it. He'd been trying that since he'd come back from Afghanistan, and it was still a struggle every day. To say nothing of the nights, when innocent faces haunted his dreams.

Her order was ready then, and he waited while she paid and then he picked up the container holding the coffees. “I'll take this one.”

Kate gave him a questioning look, but she didn't protest. As soon as they'd reached the sidewalk, though, she stopped, frowning. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

He grinned. “You read me pretty well, don't you? No, not wrong, but something I need to show you.” He nodded to the bench in front of the café. “Let's have a seat for a minute. The coffee won't get cold that fast.”

For a moment he thought she'd object, but then she went to sit on the bench, the box perched on her lap. He joined her, pulling out his phone.

“We finally found a picture of Ax Bolt. I thought you'd better see it.” He passed the phone to her.

Shielding the screen with her hand, Kate peered intently at the image and then shook her head. “I'm sure I've never seen him before. I don't think he was at the Lamplight that night, if that's what you're wondering.”

He frowned absently down the street, barely noticing the gold of the leaves. “Not exactly. It would give me a little more to go on if you'd seen him, but I didn't really expect it. Larry had a bit more spectacular reaction to it.”

“Larry?” She swung toward him. “You mean he's come around? Is he talking?”