She nodded. “We’ve discussed that, figured our suspect started this chain of events as soon as Dante came back. You know, all of us who were there that night are now in the same place?”
“Or it could be something else.”
“Like what?” He stared at her until she caught on to his thought process. “You think Dante is the killer? Why? That would make no sense, and he was with me…”
But he hadn’t been with her specifically at the times the murders had been committed, had he? She thought back to the two murders. After, when she got the calls, yes. But she couldn’t pinpoint time of death to Dante being with her the whole time, could she?
“Dante would have no reason to kill George or Jeff,” she argued.
“Not that you know of, but what do any of us really know about him anymore? He’s been gone for twelve years, Anna. Do we really know where he’s been and what he’s been doing all that time?”
“Why would you accuse him of this? Is there something you know about him that you’re not telling me?”
Roman shook his head. “I’m not accusing him of anything. Jesus, Anna, I’d hate if he was the one. And no, I don’t know anything concrete. But I don’t like how close he’s gotten to you so fast after he came back, and how you’ve let him. Two people get killed in the same manner as Tony Maclin, in the same alley. They get hearts carved on their chests, and suddenly Dante’s moving in with you. That’s just a little convenient.
“It’s you I’m worried about. I don’t want the way things were between the two of you in the past to cloud your judgment now.”
She lifted her chin. “My eyes are wide open.”
“Are they? I just want you to be careful.”
“I am careful. I know who he is.” At least she thought she did.
“You know, who we all were back then isn’t who we are now. You can’t accept him based on who he was twelve years ago. We’re all different now.”
“I know that, Roman. That’s part of why I’m trying to keep Dante close. I’m trying to find out who he is now. I’m doing my job.”
He looked at her as if he didn’t really believe her, but finally he nodded. “As long as you do it with your eyes wide open.”
She wondered if she did know. Dammit, she hated that Roman had thought the same thing she’d thought. Only she’d discarded the idea, hadn’t followed through.
Was Roman the one thinking clearly and she was seeing only what she wanted to see?
Was Dante sliding past her defenses, purposely ingratiating himself into her life, into her heart, so that she wouldn’t see what was going on right under her nose?
Roman was only looking out for her, making her see logic. Her judgment wasn’t exactly clear where Dante was concerned. And Roman was always logical when working cases, never let his emotion cloud his judgment. That’s what made him a good cop.
Was she letting emotion get in the way of seeing what was right in front of her?
She’d accepted everything Dante said at face value without any proof. How did she know for a fact he was who he said he was? He’d given her the perfect excuse not to be able to verify his background. Black ops, in the wind, unable to be tracked.
Shit. She pushed back from her desk and stood, heading into the break room for a coffee.
After pouring a coffee she moved over to the snack machine, searching for something to munch on, loading her quarters in and deciding on a package of nuts.
Could Dante get legitimate FBI credentials if he did anything other than work for the government? Her captain had certainly bought his ID, and Pohanski was no dumbass. Surely he’d have had Dante checked out, verified by the FBI, but no way could she go to her captain and ask him if he’d verified Dante. That would only cast suspicion on Dante, and that’s the last thing she would do.
She leaned her forehead against the metal side of the snack machine, wishing every damn thing didn’t have to be so complicated.
“You taking a nap?”
She jerked upright and turned around to find Dante leaning against the doorway of the break room. “How did you get in here?”
He held up his badge. “Hall pass.”
She blew out a breath. “Right. Of course.”
He frowned and came into the room, stopping in front of her to run his hand down her arm. “You upset about something?”
She took a step away. “No, just busy.”
“Bullshit. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just have a lot on my mind.”
“The Maclin file?”
“Yeah.”
“Find anything?”
“No. I want to interview his family.”
Dante shifted his gaze to the doorway, then back to her. “That’s risky, don’t you think?”
“Why?”
A couple uniforms came into the break room, so Anna led Dante out the side exit. The brutal heat slammed into her and made her breath catch. At least they were alone out here.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked when they moved along the far wall on the side of the building, a place set up for smokers. None were outside right now, so they had privacy.
“Isn’t what obvious?”
“Maclin’s family. What are you hoping to find out?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I can get some information out of them. I want to meet them, talk to them, see what they have to say about their son and that night. The case is twelve years cold now.”
“Not to them it isn’t. You know what he was to you. To them, he was their son, and he was murdered.”
She lifted her chin. “I know what he was to them. Still, it’s a lead we need to follow.”
He leaned against the brick wall and shrugged. “Up to you.”
“Yes, it is. You want to come along?”
“You know I do.”
“And it won’t bother you.”
“To meet Maclin’s family? No. Why should it?”
He seemed so cold at that moment, she wished he hadn’t shifted his sunglasses over his eyes so she could see them. She could read a lot in a person’s eyes.
Like whether or not they were lying to her.
Dammit. Why had Roman planted the seed of doubt in her mind? Was Dante a killer? Could he be sweet and gentle and touch her body the way he had, and be a cold and ruthless killer, too?
She knew he could. Lots of killers were like that, completely fooling the people closest to them into believing they were warm and loving, when in fact they were utter psychopaths.
She didn’t want to think about this. Not now.
She went inside, grabbed her file and notepad and met Dante in the parking lot.
“I’ll drive,” he said. “You give directions.”
She could argue the point that he had no legal right to commandeer a detective’s vehicle, but decided to pick her battles with him. She slid into the passenger side and told him where to go.
The Maclins still lived in the same house in Kirkwood where Tony had grown up. Anna directed Dante up Lindbergh, then off a side street.
“Nice,” he said. “Our lives would all have been a lot different if we could have lived in houses like these.”
There were large lots with some smaller homes, and then some bigger, all with perfectly manicured lawns, mature trees and beautiful landscaping.
The Maclin home was one of the bigger ones, a two-story white frame house with dark green painted trim. Triangular gables spread across the top of the home, and a wide porch was set off at the side of the house. A couple expensive cars were parked in the driveway in front of the three-car garage. Anna wondered what sat inside the garage.
“Rich kid,” Dante said, wrinkling his nose as he pulled up the circular driveway and parked. “What the hell was he doing in an alley in South City that night?”
Anna met him around the front of her car. “That’s something his parents could never tell us, according to his file.”
“Maybe they know something more now.”
“Doubt it,” she said, ringing the bell, “or they would have let us know by now. They want their son’s killer found.”
Dante didn’t say anything, just kept a straight face as they waited for the door to be answered.
“Bet they have a butler,” Dante said, whispering in her ear.
She nudged him with her elbow.
The door was answered after Anna rang it a second time. A tall, slender woman with short blond hair answered. She was well dressed—country-club type, Anna would guess, based on the crisp capri pants and button-down silk short-sleeved shirt. Expensive sandals, too.
“Susan Maclin?” Anna asked, revealing her badge.
“Yes? Is something wrong?”
Anna introduced herself and Dante. “We’re here about your son’s case.”
Susan’s hand went to her throat, her eyes widening. “Is there new evidence? Did you find his killer?”
Anna almost felt guilty getting the woman’s hopes up. “No, ma’am, we’re just looking into a few cold cases. Mind if we come in and ask you some questions?”
She opened the glass and screen door. “Of course not.”
Susan Maclin led them inside, where it was icy cool, thankfully. The place was open and spacious as they followed her from the front to the back of the house.
“I hope you don’t mind the sunroom. It’s where I spend a lot of time. It’s air-conditioned, of course.”
Anna looked at Dante, who shrugged. “It’s fine, ma’am,” he said.
“I’ll bring us some iced tea.”
“Not necessary,” Anna said. “We’ll try not to take up too much of your time.”
“Oh, it’s no bother at all. I’m so grateful you’re reopening the case. I’ll be back in a moment.”
She glided out of the room, her blouse seeming to flow like water. The woman was so elegant and graceful. Anna slunk into the chair, feeling the weight of guilt settle on top of her.
Susan Maclin looked frail and vulnerable.
And hopeful, her brown eyes widening with that look a parent got whenever a cop opened up an old, unsolved case. She’d seen that look before on the faces of loved ones whose child or parent or spouse had been a victim. All they craved was closure. Anna’s and Dante’s presence here represented the hope that it could come sometime in the near future.
Only, Susan Maclin would never have closure for her son Tony’s murder. Shit.
“Stop it,” Dante whispered, taking a seat in one of the oversize chairs next to her.
Anna shifted her gaze from all the beautiful knickknacks over to Dante. “Stop what?”
“Looking so guilty.”
“She’s making us tea.”
“I’m sure it’s already made.”
“Don’t you feel guilty?”
“No. And you shouldn’t, either.”
“Here we are.”
Anna sat up straight and managed to put on her nonsmiling detective’s face for Tony Maclin’s mother as the woman handed her a glass of iced tea.
“Thank you.”
Susan took a seat across from Anna and Dante, held herself in rigidly perfect posture as she faced them. “You’re welcome. So tell me what news you have about my son’s case.”
“Is your husband around?”
Her hopeful look faltered a bit. “I’m afraid Bob doesn’t live here anymore. We’re divorced.”
“I’m sorry,” Anna said. “If you don’t mind my asking, for how long?”
“Is that relevant?”
“Everything is relevant in a murder investigation, Mrs. Maclin.”
“We divorced five years after Tony was killed. His death put a strain on our marriage, as you can probably imagine.” Susan swept her perfectly coiffed hair away from her face.
“I can imagine. So you stayed here in the house?”
“Yes. Bob’s family is in Chicago. The memories here…they were hard for him. He relocated. Which made it difficult for Sam.”
“Sam?” Dante asked.
“Tony’s younger brother.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Anna said. She remembered the younger brother being mentioned in Maclin’s file. But Dante wouldn’t have known about him. She shot him a look and he covered nicely, turning to Susan.
“Does Sam live here with you?” Dante asked.
“Off and on. He’s a sculptor, an artist like me, though I paint.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Like Tony was going to be, before he died. He was so very talented…”
Anna waited while Susan composed herself, trying to feel sympathy for this woman who’d lost her son. But her son had taken something from Anna that night twelve years ago, and Anna’s life had never been the same.
And while she didn’t mourn Tony Maclin’s death, she felt bad for what Susan Maclin lost because of that night. A son. A marriage.
If they hadn’t killed Tony…
“Even after all these years, it’s still so difficult,” Susan said.
Anna lifted her chin. “Yes, it is.”
Susan frowned. “Excuse me?”
“We’re sure it is difficult for you,” Dante said, taking over for Anna when she couldn’t. “I’m sorry we have to put you through this, but we just have a few questions. We’re hoping to update the file. You never know when a new lead could help us find the person who killed your son.”
Susan pulled a tissue from the box on the glass table in front of them, dabbed her eyes and nodded. “Of course. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
“Tell us about Tony,” Anna said. “There’s not much in his file. I’m curious, since you live out here, if you have any idea what he was doing in an alley in South City that night. Did he have friends who lived over there?”
“Not that I know of. Tony had a tight circle of friends, all local to the area. He was involved with the art club and with sports. His father insisted he do something other than sit inside and paint, so he played soccer.”
“Varsity?” Dante asked.
Susan met his gaze and smiled. “Yes. Bob got him involved with sports when he was a kid. The usual stuff—baseball, soccer, basketball. He wasn’t big enough for football when he got older, but he had agility, so he gravitated toward soccer, and was good enough to make the varsity team in high school.”
“Did he enjoy sports?”
She nodded at Dante. “Well enough, I suppose, and it was an outlet for his frustrations.”
“What kind of frustrations?” Anna asked.
Susan’s lips lifted. “It’s an artist thing. When you work on a piece, and it’s not going the way you want it to, it can be so incredibly frustrating, because it’s here in your soul—” she fisted both hands against her chest “—but you can’t bring it out on the canvas. He got to let out that anguish on the soccer field. I think it helped clear his head so he was better able to work on his craft.”