Inspector Specter (24 page)

Those sentences had way too much information in them for me. “You heard from the lieutenant
yesterday
?” I said. Paul immediately stiffened up and stopped floating freely.

“Yes, but not since,” he said. “Have you heard from her?”

“No, I haven't heard from her for days. Are you a relative of hers?”

“I'm sorry, Alison, I forgot we haven't met. I'm Anita's husband.”

Thomas McElone—if that's who he really was—clearly did not respond well to stunned silence. “Hello?” he said.

I looked at Paul, who was definitely wondering exactly who had punched me in the stomach. “You're Lieutenant McElone's husband?” I said, just so Paul could hear it. His brow wrinkled, and his mouth opened a little.

“Yes, I am,” Thomas said. “Is that a problem?” I didn't blame him for being confused; I was as baffled as I've ever been.

“No, it's not a problem, but if you're her husband, who is Malcolm Kidder?”

I dealt with stunned silence better than he did, but I've had more practice. “I don't have the faintest idea,” he said after a moment. “Why did you ask?”

“A man named Malcolm Kidder has been in touch with me for the past few days, and he says
he
is the lieutenant's husband,” I told him. Why not reveal all? If Thomas could explain it, he was way ahead of everyone else in this game.

It hadn't occurred to me that it was unusual for the lieutenant to have a different name than her husband's, and I told Thomas so. I'd never changed my last name, not when I was married and certainly not since my divorce. In fact, Melissa has my last name because The Swine and I had agreed on it when I was pregnant with her (and yet I
still
didn't see our divorce coming!).

“That's reasonable,” he said, which marked the first time anything had been reasonable for about a week.

“Put the phone on speaker,” Paul said. So I did. I hadn't counted on Melissa, coffee cup in hand, wandering out onto the deck as we spoke, but I would have told her all about this later anyway.

“Who do you suppose Malcolm Kidder is?” I asked Thomas, but I was looking at Paul and Melissa.

“Like I said, I have no idea,” Thomas said. “But if you need proof, I can send you a copy of our wedding picture.”

“Yes, please do,” I said. I wanted to give the impression that I was professional, but also I really wanted to see McElone in a wedding dress. I put the phone on mute and told Melissa to find Maxie and get her laptop, pronto. She was off like a shot. That coffee works wonders.

Punching the mute button off, I asked, “So you heard from the lieutenant yesterday?”

“Yes. She'd been calling in every day and coming home every night, but last night she didn't come home, and now she's not answering her personal cell phone.”

Maxie appeared at the attic window in her trench coat and descended quickly to the spot where I was standing and Paul was hovering. I texted Thomas my e-mail address, and he said he would send the photograph immediately. Maxie heard that and nodded; she'd check for it.

“Just now? I've been calling her cell phone number, and she hasn't been answering me for a few days,” I told Thomas.

“Did you leave voice messages?” he asked.

“My daughter tells me no one listens to those,” I said. “She says you just look and see someone called, then you call them back.”

Thomas was silent for a moment. “Maybe not when they're missing,” he suggested.

“Maybe, but she still didn't call me back. Not even before you said she stopped getting in touch with you.”

“She . . . I'm not sure how to put this . . .”

I could tell what was coming, so I decided to put Thomas out of his misery. “She thinks that I'm a pest, and she decided somewhere along the way that contacting me in the first place had been a bad idea, so she stopped taking my calls, is that it?”

I heard Thomas exhale. “Not
exactly
,” he said, “but pretty close.”

“Really? Which part am I wrong about?”

“She doesn't think you're a pest. She thinks you're a nut.”

Maxie turned the laptop around to show me a somewhat younger Lieutenant (probably Officer) McElone, her face very near that of a rather dapper young man with very broad shoulders. She wore a flattering white dress with not too much lace, and he was in a business suit, not a tuxedo. They looked like they had a nice future together.

“Okay, you're either a wizard with Photoshop or you're Lieutenant McElone's husband,” I told Thomas. “Assuming this is you.”

Maxie nodded again and punched a few keys. A page of images on a search for “Thomas McElone” showed at least twelve pictures of the man in the wedding photo. It seemed to me he couldn't possibly be devious enough to get his picture plastered all over the Internet just to fool me.

“I can come over there to prove it,” he said.

Great. So both of McElone's husbands would be here soon.
Hey, wait!
“Malcolm Kidder is on his way over!” I shouted to the heavens. Everyone, including Melissa, who had just come back from her trip upstairs, froze. Maxie recovered first and started typing again.

“The guy who said he was me is on his way to your house?” Thomas asked.

“Sort of.” Malcolm hadn't actually said he was Thomas McElone, he'd said he was Anita McElone's husband. But that was splitting hairs.

“Hold on,” Maxie said. “Uh-oh.”

Uh-oh?
That meant things were getting worse. How could things possibly get worse?

“What?” Melissa said.

“I've been running a search on the computer for the name Malcolm Kidder,” Maxie said. “It never occurred to me before to do that, because we thought he was the cop's husband.”

Paul's face looked worried. “What did you find?” Maxie showed him the screen, and I believe that if it were possible, Paul would have blanched. “Oh, my.”

“Oh your what?” I said, forgetting that the man on the phone could hear me.

“Is someone there?” Thomas asked. Then he paused. “Is this one of those ghosty things Anita tells me about?”

“There's something in one of Lieutenant McElone's files from the flash drive,” Paul said. “‘Malcolm Kidder' is a known alias for Vinnie ‘the Goldfish' Monroe.”

I had, at this point, about fifteen minutes before my doorbell was going to ring, and the finger on the button was going to be that of a criminal/drug dealer/generally feared guy who was now moving up quickly on the list of possible murder suspects. He also might have something to do with Lieutenant McElone's disappearance.

“I'm on my way,” Thomas McElone said, and hung up his phone.

What was needed, quickly, were two plans of action. First, I had to get Melissa and Oliver out of the house. That required an adult with a car and a driver's license. Or a skateboard. There wasn't enough time to summon Mom (who was probably going to see Ferry per Haul's request) or Josh, Wendy was visiting her grandmother in Bergen County (too far away) and Jeannie was probably steaming frantically toward Port Elizabeth as we spoke.

I could have simply asked Maxie to protect the kids and sent them out to the beach (Paul couldn't get past the property line), but I needed Maxie for my plan to stop Vinnie Monroe once he got to my door from, you know, killing me at all. (I didn't know if that was actually his plan, but in these cases it's best to err on the side of caution, I believe.) It's not that I wouldn't put Melissa's life and Oliver's before my own, but given the option, I preferred to keep all of us alive at the same time. Call me greedy.

Another option would be to ask one of the guests to supervise the kids for a while. That would be reckless, since I really didn't know any of the visitors well; a little insulting to my eleven-year-old, who can take care of herself under most circumstances; and bad business, as the vacation brochure I circulate does not mention the guests being required to perform babysitting services in order to prevent the odd homicide.

Fourteen minutes. Luckily, I think fast.

My cell phone was out in seconds, and I had Phyllis Coates on speed dial. I didn't even give her a chance to say hello. “I have the story of the year for you, but you have to be here in five minutes,” I said.

The great thing about Phyllis is you don't have to say more. “On my way.” And that was it.

I looked over at Melissa. “Please get Oliver ready to go,” I said.

“Go where?”

“I don't know yet. Phyllis will tell you.”

Liss didn't look pleased, but I hadn't actually told her she was leaving, too, and she'd seen the look in my eyes. So she rushed off toward Ollie's room. I turned toward Paul. “I have a really bad plan,” I said. “But if you don't have a better one, that's what we're going to do.”

He didn't have a better one.

We moved into the movie room, the least populated spot of the guesthouse at the moment. Bonnie and Joe wandered in to ask about museums in the area, and I directed them to Allaire Village in Wall Township. It's very historical, and if you come stay at the guesthouse sometime, I'll tell you about it.

True to her reputation, Phyllis showed up in four minutes in a 1973 Dodge Dart that she had probably driven through a few brick walls and kept going. I hesitated for a moment, weighing whether staying in the house with Vinnie Monroe was less dangerous than riding in Phyllis's car, but decided that if Phyllis was still alive having owned the Dart since the Nixon administration, she was probably the best bet.

I outlined her assigned duties. Phyllis, while not especially motherly, is fond of Melissa and really wanted the story I'd pitched her, though I refused to divulge it completely unless she cooperated. Knowing the kids' safety was on the line, she did not argue.

“I'll take them over to the
Chronicle
office,” she suggested.

I'm guessing my face looked a little nonplussed. “Yeah, because there's nothing there an almost-one-year-old could possibly find to hurt himself with, right?”

Phyllis gave that some thought as Liss wheeled in Ollie's stroller, complete with Ollie. “Where are we going?” Melissa asked. She'd been told now that she was on the passenger list. A short
discussion
had ensued, but she had accepted her fate when I'd promised to text the second they could come back.

“There's an IHOP in Neptune,” Phyllis said, glaring at me just a little. “Your mom's buying the pancakes.”

I agreed, giving Phyllis some cash and Ollie's car seat, and the three of them were out the door with about six minutes to spare before my personal idea of Beelzebub showed up at the door. I looked at Paul, who was about knee-deep in the floor but still pacing, goatee-stroking and thinking. Maxie had stashed Melissa's laptop on top of the bookcase on the assumption that Vinnie might be the person who had taken “hers” and would want the other if he saw it. She was in a corner of the movie room working herself into the proper state of irritation to perform properly, something that is not difficult for her to do.

“How serious is this going to get?” Paul asked.

“That depends on how serious Vinnie turns out to be.”

The doorbell rang at that moment, a few minutes early. That figured. My heart took a quick leap, then I reminded myself that we had a plan and walked what would appear to be calmly to the door. Paul trailed behind me, while Maxie went out through the front wall to see our visitor and warn us if he was behaving badly before I opened the door.

But she appeared amused when she came through the front door—or, more accurately, when she stuck her head through it and looked at me. “All clear,” she said.

“What does that mean?” I asked, but she was gone again.

Even Maxie wouldn't purposely lead me to danger, so I opened the door. And found Josh standing there. He gave me a peck on the cheek and walked through, carrying two one-gallon cans of wood stain.

“Oh, for Pete's sake,” Paul said. I did not respond.

“I was making deliveries in Harbor Haven, so I figured I'd bring over the stain for the movie room,” Josh said.

I smiled at him. “I haven't decided on a color yet,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, but this is the one you were going to pick, and I was in the neighborhood.”

If he'd been here ten minutes earlier, I wouldn't have had to call Phyllis. “Listen, we've got a situation here.” I got him up to date on the confluence of McElone husbands about to descend on my house, and Josh's face hardened.

“I think I'd better stick around.” I knew that tone. I wasn't going to be able to persuade him otherwise.

“Okay, but stay out of sight. Come on.” I picked up one can of stain, Josh got the other and we headed for the movie room.

Once we got there I opened the storage closet and put the stain inside. Best to keep all this stuff behind a closed door, especially with a houseful of guests and a very small child who could learn to walk and who knows what else at any minute. But I considered the situation and looked at Josh.

“Get in the closet,” I said.

He actually blushed. “We don't have that kind of time, Alison.”

“I like the way you think, but what I meant was, I don't want you visible when Malcolm-slash-Vinnie gets here. The element of surprise can't hurt.”

Paul nodded his approval of my plan. “Is there something in there he can use as a weapon?” he asked.

I looked at Josh. “There might be a piece of two-by-four in there, too. If you need it.”

Josh stared at me. “You're serious?” he said.

But there was no time to argue; the doorbell rang at that moment, and Maxie appeared through the wall at the same time. “This one has got to be the bad guy,” she said. She hadn't seen “Malcolm” before, but I was willing to bet she was right.

“Okay,” I said, “time to let the raging maniac inside.” I gestured toward the open closet door, and Josh sheepishly walked in. I closed it behind him. “Can you hear in there?”

“I can hear fine; the question is whether I can see, and the answer is no.” There is no light fixture in the closet.

“You're not in there to read,” I said, and walked out of the room toward the front door. “Just absolutely don't come out unless I say your name. We have a plan. Okay?” I didn't wait for an answer.

I composed myself at the door. I'd met this man before, but he'd been playing a part, and doing so very convincingly. Now I had to do the same, pretending I wasn't aware of his true identity and wasn't starkly terrified of him. I took a cleansing breath and tried to think of people I really liked who reminded me of Vinnie “the Goldfish” Monroe. No one came to mind.

“What are you waiting for?” Maxie asked behind me. “Christmas?”

I declined comment on Maxie's helpful attitude, put a concerned look on my face that I hoped would be at least a little believable and pulled the door open. The man I knew as Malcolm Kidder stood there, his best tormented-husband expression on. I wondered now why I'd ever bought it; that face looked so phony.

“Malcolm,” I breathed, as if grateful he'd finally arrived. “I'm so glad you're here. Come on in.”

“Thanks,” he said. “It's hot out there.” He walked in wearing cargo shorts whose right-hand side pocket seemed to be carrying something just a little too heavy. It bounced a bit. I wasn't interested in finding out what that might be.

“Yeah. You want a cold drink or something?” I didn't want Malcolm Kidder anywhere but in my movie room, but if I really did think he was Malcolm Kidder, that's what I would have said.

“No, that's okay.” Good. “I've been thinking about your meeting with Buster Hockney.”

I looked around as if concerned that a guest would hear. “Let's go in there,” I said, pointing toward the movie room. “I'd just as soon keep the investigation separate from my guests, okay?”

Let's-just-call-him-Vinnie-and-be-done-with-it looked down the hallway and seemed to be sizing it up. “That doesn't seem very private,” he said. “There aren't even doors. How about if we talk somewhere else, like your room. The guests don't go there, do they?”

My bedroom was the last place I was going with this guy. “Don't worry,” I said. “The movie room is far away from the guest areas, and they know I'm renovating in there, so they don't go near it.” And before he could come up with a reason that wasn't a good idea, I started down the hallway.

“Nicely played,” Paul said, walking just ahead and above me, but backward so he could watch Vinnie.

“I don't see why I can't just hit him with something and tie him up,” Maxie suggested. She was behind me, no doubt sizing up Vinnie and finding him wanting from the tone in her voice.

“Because we need him to tell us where Lieutenant McElone is,” Paul reminded her. “Stick to the plan.”

After one of the longest twenty-foot walks of my life, Vinnie and I were “alone” in the movie room. He pretended to look it over as a courtesy but was probably trying to figure out the best place to hide my body. If it was in the utility closet, he'd be in for a surprise, but the actual possibility of that scenario took some of the fun out of the thought.

I noticed, though, that Maxie had already morphed into wearing her trench coat and Paul was wearing a long pea jacket (in this weather?) so they could “import” any objects they might want while Vinnie was here. That emboldened me. A little.

“So what do you think I should do when I meet Buster?” I asked Vinnie. It was an ironic situation, and there was no reason not to roll with it.

“Malcolm” looked startled. “When you meet Buster?” he asked. “Do you even know how to
find
Buster?”

“Oh, that's right. I forgot to tell you.” I thought it was going well, but Paul frowned, indicating I was playing the scene a little too frivolously. “I managed to get past the encryption on the lieutenant's folder and found some files she had on Buster. I assume she got them from Detective Ferry's computer or somewhere, but she had a list of Buster's usual haunts, and where she believed his whole operation had its headquarters.”

I could tell that he was trying to keep his emotions from showing on his face. But he definitely had a number of questions running through his mind, not the least of which was whether I was lying. “But you said your laptop was stolen,” he said. “How could you have gotten that information?”

I waved a hand. “You forget,” I said. “Your wife”—and it was a real effort not to punch the word
wife
, but I managed—“left me all her data on a thumb drive. I plugged it into another computer, and after a while I realized how to get through her encryption software.” I will admit for the record that Maxie was feeding me the line about the firewall; I honestly don't know encryption software from a Rottweiler.

“You figured out her password?” Vinnie, who no doubt had my laptop in his possession—a major reason it was becoming difficult to keep Maxie from smacking him around with something—would surely want that information (if I'd really had it) so he could get into the same files I was making up.

“Yeah, it was easy. Funny, I never thought ‘Anita' and I were that close, but once I met you I realized I knew her pretty well. It didn't take long to get her password. I'm surprised you haven't been able to do it.”