Kingsley Baby Trilogy: The Hero's Son\The Brother's Wife\The Long-Lost Heir (17 page)

“You're sure about this?” Brant asked.

Dr. Wu nodded. “Absolutely.”

“How could the medical examiner have missed something like that in the first autopsy?” Valerie asked.

“We've come a long way in thirty-one years in determining age,” Dr. Wu said. “But even back then, the bone fractures would have been detected. Unless, of course, a full autopsy wasn't performed.”

“That's possible,” Brant said. “We were told the autopsy was rushed, that the M.E. was looking primarily for cause of death. An identification had already been made.”

Dr. Wu glanced at Brant. “An incorrect identification, it would seem. I've looked at Adam Kingsley's medical records. He had no broken bones, no serious injuries of any kind. There is no way that body can be his. Absolutely no way.”

* * *

T
HE
K
INGSLEYS WERE
stunned by the revelation. Andrew had insisted that the entire family be present to hear what Valerie and Brant had learned. He already knew, of course. As per their agreement, Valerie had called and informed him of their findings. He'd then asked her and Brant to drive out to the mansion to be
present when he broke it to the family, in case there were questions.

Jeremy Willows took it calmly enough. He stood apart from the gathering, much as he had in Victor Northrup's office yesterday. But Valerie knew that he was watching them, taking in every word that was said.

Pamela Kingsley, Jeremy's mother, burst into tears. “I was the one who found him missing, you know. That night has
haunted
me. I've asked myself a thousand times if I'd gone up earlier, would I have been able to save him?” She broke down again, and Edward, who had aged ten years on hearing the news, absently patted her hand. His face was completely ashen, and Valerie worried that he might be on the verge of a heart attack.

But it was Iris Kingsley, Adam's grandmother, who concerned her the most. After one strangled cry, the old woman fell completely silent, her arms wrapped around her middle, her frail body swaying to and fro, as if she were rocking an invisible child in her arms.

Valerie thought her heart would break at the sight. She turned away, tears stinging her eyes.

As gently as he could, Brant related the events that had led to the autopsy and what Dr. Wu had learned. When there were no more questions, Andrew showed them out.

Valerie said softly, “Is she going to be okay?”

“Grandmother?” Andrew's smile was more of a grimace. “She's a survivor. She'll get through this. We all will. In time.” He turned to Brant. “What happens now?”

“Both cases will have to be reopened. We think the body in Adam's grave is that of a boy named Johnny Wayne Tyler, who disappeared around the same time
Adam did. We've contacted Johnny's family, and his mother has agreed to cooperate. Dr. Wu will do the DNA testing.”

“This is going to be a nightmare for my family,” Andrew said. He glanced at Brant. “What do you think the chances are that Adam could still be alive after all these years?”

Brant hesitated. “Not very good, I'm afraid.”

“There is a chance, though.”

“A very slim one.”

“That's more than we've had for the last thirty-one years,” Andrew said quietly.

V
ALERIE HADN'T BEEN
home in almost thirty-six hours. She hadn't had any sleep, either, and as she let herself in the front door, she felt punch-drunk. Too exhausted to remain on her feet, but too keyed up to rest.

She typed in the code on the alarm and watched as the red light turned to green, then entered another code that would arm the doors and windows, but wouldn't activate the motion detector.

She thought about what Brant had said yesterday, or had it been this morning? That if the body in the grave didn't belong to Adam Kingsley, at the very least a retrial could be declared for her father.

Of course, Brant hadn't known they were talking about her father. Valerie still hadn't told him who she was, but there was really no point in holding back now. She knew she could trust him with the truth. He'd proven himself over and over.

First thing in the morning, Valerie would take everything she'd discovered—including her mother's diary—to her father's attorney, so that he could begin what would likely be a long legal process. Then she would go see Brant, tell him everything, and hope for the best.

Somehow she would find a way to make him understand. She had to. Because they'd been through too much
to let things end badly. She couldn't bear the thought of Brant hating her, despising her.

She couldn't bear to think of him not being in her life; but that could very well be the consequence of her deception.

Then don't,
she told herself firmly.
Don't think about it.

What good did it do to dwell on the worst-case scenario? Wasn't it better to hope for the best?

Valerie took a deep breath and headed for the shower, where she stood in the steaming water so long her fingers began to shrivel. Toweling off, she pulled on her bathrobe and went out to the kitchen to fix herself a cup of tea. She carried the cup with her into the bedroom, got out the box of her mother's personal effects she'd hidden in her closet, and tried to decide if there was anything among the myriad of books, articles and mementos, other than her mother's diary, that she needed to give to her father's attorney.

Valerie pulled the box to the middle of the floor and sat down, cross-legged, to go through once more the newspaper clippings and documents her mother had collected over the years. The diary was still in the kitchen, safely in the canister where she'd returned it when she'd gotten back from New Orleans. When she'd first arrived in Memphis, she'd thought it was better not to keep her mother's journal with the rest of the things, in case someone managed to break into her house. They might find the box of articles and mementos, but she didn't think they would ever find the diary.

Along with the newspaper clippings and books about the kidnapping, there were also some personal effects of her father's, including his wallet. For a long time after
Valerie had read her mother's diary, she hadn't been able to go through his things, to open that wallet and see what remained of the life her father had led before he'd been sent to prison.

Finally, though, after moving to Memphis, she'd gotten up her courage and had opened the wallet one night. There were two one-dollar bills inside, along with his driver's license, his social security card and a picture of Valerie and her mother.

That photo had almost been Valerie's undoing. Everything that had been taken from her had come rushing back to her, and she'd closed the wallet, putting it away until another time when she felt stronger, more able to cope with her rage at Judd Colter for what he had done to her family.

Valerie opened the wallet now, fingering the cheap imitation leather, flipping through the windows that contained the picture of her and her mother, the driver's license and the social security card. She checked the money holder. The two dollars were still inside. Everything was exactly as it had been the night her father had been arrested.

Two measly dollars in his wallet, Valerie thought. Where had the fifteen thousand dollars in the trunk of his car come from? Who had planted it there?

She started to put the wallet away, but something metal fell out of one of the compartments. A coin. Valerie frowned. She'd checked the wallet before. There had been nothing else inside. No money except for the two one-dollar bills.

But then, she hadn't examined the wallet as closely as she might have. She could have missed some change tucked away in one of the compartments.

Picking up the coin from the floor, Valerie started to stuff it back into the wallet, then froze. This was no ordinary coin. It had a face on one side, but the other side was blank, and a tiny hole had been drilled through the top, so that a chain could slip through.

A one-sided coin.

I've always thought that if I could just find it, I'd know once and for all what really happened to Adam.

The horror rose up inside her so quickly, Valerie almost didn't make it to the bathroom before she was violently ill. Afterward, her legs trembled so badly she could scarcely stand, her hands shook so she could hardly wet a cloth and press it to her face.

She stared at her pale reflection in the mirror for a long time as a voice inside her head mocked her.

“Tainted!” it screamed. “You have the tainted blood of a killer in your veins!”

* * *

H
OW COULD SHE HAVE BEEN
so wrong? Valerie wondered hours later as she lay in bed, unable to sleep. She put her hands to her face and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, trying to blot out what she'd discovered.

“Dear God, what have I done?” she whispered into the darkness. She'd set about to destroy three men's reputations, and for what? Some misguided notion of loyalty and justice. Her father was a killer. She'd held the proof in her own hand, and no amount of scrubbing had been able to remove the imprint of that medallion from her skin.

She rubbed her hands across her face, staring into the darkness. She had proof of her father's guilt, but the question was, what was she going to do with it? He was already in prison, serving a life sentence without
parole. Would coming forward with the coin make any difference? Would justice be better served?

Dear God, what was she thinking? Of course, she had to come forward. The autopsy had proven the body in Adam's grave wasn't his, so that meant her father would, in all likelihood, be given a new trial. He might even be cleared because of the inconsistencies in the case, such as the missing autopsy report and pictures from the police file. Could she really be a party to that? Could she let a murderer—even her own father—go free?

She was doing exactly what she'd been worried Brant would do. Concealing evidence. If given proof of his father's guilt, what would he have done with it?

That was no longer a question. Valerie knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Brant would have had the courage to do the right thing. He would have chosen justice over pride and loyalty. Could Valerie really do any differently?

But was she as courageous as Brant? Could she face the questions, the accusations, the cruel taunts that she and her mother had once run away from?

Could she face the disgust in Brant's eyes when he learned the truth?

* * *

V
ALERIE AWAKENED
sometime later to find a shadow standing over her. She'd been dreaming about Adam Kingsley, as a grown man. He looked just like Andrew, but she knew he was Adam because he was pointing an accusing finger at her.

“Your father killed me!” he shouted. “What are you going to do about it?”

The dream seemed so real that when Valerie awakened, she thought it was Adam Kingsley's ghost standing
over her. Then the shadow moved into a patch of moonlight, and her terror deepened. She tried to scream, but he was on her before she could utter a sound. His eyes, as cold and dark as the Mississippi River on a moonless night, glared down at her.

“Don't make a sound,” he warned, pointing a gun at her. “Understand?”

She saw the cruelty in those dark eyes and didn't dare provoke him. She nodded slowly.

Just as slowly, Austin Colter took his gloved hand from her mouth.

“How did you get in here?” Valerie gasped, clutching the sheet to her throat.

“My father owns the company that installed your security system. It was a simple matter of getting into the computer and finding out the code. I've been in here before, by the way. Several times.”

Valerie stared at him in horror. “Why?”

He shrugged and looked around. “I see you found the little gift I left for you.” Moonlight glinted on the gold medallion he held up.

Fear clawed at her spine. “How did you know about the coin?”

“I put it there,” he said matter-of-factly. “After your first article came out, I came in here looking for something to use against you, and surprise, surprise. I discovered you're none other than Cletus Brown's daughter. Only I wasn't quite prepared to use that little tidbit. I was afraid it might backfire on me, and besides, I didn't think that would stop your investigation. But I figured if you became convinced your father really did murder Adam Kingsley, you'd have to give it up. What was it Andrew told you in the nursery the night of my
fund-raiser? ‘Find the coin and you find my brother's killer?'”

“Something like that,” Valerie whispered. Dear God, what was he saying? That her father was innocent? The coin had been planted in his wallet to make her think he was guilty? That was exactly what she'd thought. She'd almost gone to the police tonight with the evidence, but something had stopped her. Something had warned her to wait until morning.

Valerie closed her eyes as a wave of emotion rolled over her.

Austin sat down on the edge of her bed, almost as if he were an old friend settling in for a chat. “It might interest you to know that I found the coin years ago, only I never knew its significance until I overheard you and Andrew talking that night.”

“I don't understand,” she said, her heart beating like the wings of a caged bird inside her chest.

“It's very simple, Valerie. I found that medallion in my father's safe years ago. Now, do you understand?”

Valerie looked at him with dawning horror. “Your father—”

“Kidnapped and murdered Adam Kingsley.” Austin shrugged. “It all fits, when you think about it. He'd worked for the Kingsleys for years as a security guard when he was off duty. He knew the layout of the house, all about the fund-raiser that night, everything. And then he was assigned to the case, along with his brother and one of his best friends. How perfect could that be? He knew exactly how to lead their investigation in the wrong direction, how to create confusion at the ransom drop, so that Edward Kingsley was isolated from the police just long enough for my father to take the money.
The police never could figure out how the kidnapper got inside the net without their seeing him, or how he escaped. But he was already inside the net. He was one of them.”

Valerie's head whirled in confusion. If Raymond Colter was the murderer, why was Austin Colter holding a gun on her?

“Then he found himself a patsy,” Austin was saying. “He planted part of the ransom money in Brown's car and made an anonymous phone call to his brother. My uncle was always so full of himself, he never stopped to consider how he was being yanked around like a puppet. He thought he was solving the second crime of the century. My God, the man's ego was incredible after that. I don't see how my father kept from telling him the truth, just to watch him deflate.”

“I guess your father used the ransom money to start his own security business,” Valerie said.

Austin nodded. “I would assume so.”

“He hired Remy Devereaux to kill me.”

“Actually, no. He hired Remy to frighten you into leaving town. I knew about it. We all did—Kristin, Hugh Rawlins and me. Dad told us about it the night of my fund-raiser, in Kinglsey's study. Oh, not about the kidnapping, of course, but that he'd hired Remy to run you out of town because he was worried what the publicity would do to my campaign and to Uncle Judd's health. Remy was demanding more money, and Dad was worried that he'd gotten in over his head. He wanted Hugh to strong-arm Remy and run him out of town again. But I decided to cut my own deal with Remy. On the QT, of course.”

“And your deal was for him to kill me,” she said. “And Naomi Gillum.”

“Remy followed you to New Orleans. When he found out about Naomi, he knew she'd have to go.”

Brant had been right, Valerie thought. Remy had been inside the apartment when she and Naomi had talked. And then later, after he'd killed her, Valerie had seen him leaving.

She shuddered, feeling ill. “What about Brant? Did you hire Remy to kill him as well?”

Austin smiled. “That would have been a bonus.”

“Why?” Valerie asked desperately. “You had nothing to do with the kidnapping. Why would you want me dead? I wasn't a threat to you.”

She saw his face contort in rage. “Of course, you were. Do you think the Party would look at me twice if there was even a hint of scandal attached to my name? If you'd uncovered the truth about my father, my career would have been dead on arrival. Much like you're going to be, I'm afraid.”

He stood and loomed over her, placing the gun against her temple. “Get up.”

There was no mistaking the warning in his voice. Valerie, searching her mind frantically for a means of escape, did as she was told. But when she was on her feet, he looped an arm around her throat and kept the gun at her temple. “We're going into the living room,” he said. “Nice and slow.”

Valerie started toward the bedroom door. The living room beyond was illuminated with a soft, bluish light. She hadn't used her computer in days, so obviously Austin had turned it on.

“It's waiting for you,” he said. He guided her toward
the computer. When they got to her desk, he increased the pressure against her throat. “Sit down.”