Someone Must Die (8 page)

C
HAPTER
12

The walk home from the park had done nothing to settle the disturbing questions in Aubrey’s head. Who had left the greeting card with the devastating threat? Was her father somehow involved? And how could she get answers without revealing that she knew about the note and putting Ethan at even greater risk?

The smell of garlic and sausage overpowered the usual musty one as she stepped inside the house. She followed the scent to the family room, where she hoped to find Smolleck.

He was a good place to start, but she would have to be cautious about what she said and asked, so as not to raise his suspicions.

She stopped in the entryway of the family room, disoriented by the unexpected brightness. All the lights had been turned on—something she or her mother rarely did—and the room had been further altered from when she had come by earlier. Portable whiteboards with writing and blowups of photos stood in front of the bookshelves. The coffee and end tables, which had been shoved against the walls, were heaped with Coke bottles, plastic cups, and pizza boxes. Several FBI agents were eating pizza at their makeshift work stations, temporary folding tables in the center of the room.

Aubrey stepped closer to the whiteboards and examined the enlarged photos. Ethan at the carnival. Photos her mother had probably taken. She wondered why they were here, then noticed in the background of each photo were crowds of people. One of them was very possibly Ethan’s kidnapper.

She shuddered as she imagined someone scooping up her little nephew, then carrying him kicking and crying to a nearby car or truck.

But that wasn’t likely. Ethan would have made a scene, and people would have interceded, or at least mentioned it to the police.

Which meant Ethan probably knew whoever had enticed him to leave the carnival.

“You shouldn’t be in here.” The clipped voice startled her.

She turned to face Special Agent Smolleck. He stood as though at attention, still in his suit jacket, crisp white shirt, and perfectly knotted tie.

“This is my house,” she said.

“I’m sorry, but this is an active investigation. It’s a breach of protocol for any family members to see what we’re working on.”

He was as arrogant as when he had interviewed her a couple of hours before.

“I understand,” she said. “But wouldn’t it help if you showed the family these photos to see if we recognize anyone in the crowds?”

His face colored. “I’ll get you and the others a set.”

“Thank you.” She softened her voice. If she hoped to get information from him, it wouldn’t be by putting him on the defensive. “Could I talk to you for a few minutes?”

Smolleck studied her with a frown, as though he could read in her face that she was withholding something. She was surprised when he grabbed a closed pizza box, a bottle of Coke, and a couple of plastic cups, then said, “Let’s sit outside.”

She followed him out the French doors to the wrought iron table and chairs in the patio. The small area was lit by a rusting outdoor sconce that had at least two of its bulbs burned out. It cast shadows over the brick pavers and rock garden. Beyond were the lounge chairs where she had sat with her father earlier, but they were in total darkness.

Smolleck sat on one of the chairs and opened the box of pizza. “Have some,” he said, taking a slice for himself. “I’m guessing you haven’t eaten in a while.”

She hesitated, but the smell of cheese and sausage was too much to resist. She picked up a slice and took a bite.

“So this is where you grew up.” He took in the dimly lit bamboos, palms, and shade trees. “Nice.”

She glanced behind her through the French doors at the strangers in the too-bright family room. “Yes. It was.” She could hear the wistful note in her voice, but there was no time for thinking about what once had been. She needed information from Smolleck.

“I was wondering if you could give me an update,” she said. “Did you get any leads from Kevin and Kim’s press conference?”

He poured Coke into the plastic cups. “Did you see it?”

She shook her head. “My mother and I were down at the park. She wanted to get some air.”

Smolleck’s features softened, or maybe it was the lighting. “Sometimes it’s good to get a change of scene, even perspective.”

What was with this sensitivity? A new FBI strategy?

“Anyway,” he said, taking another bite of pizza, “you asked about Kevin and Kim’s statement to the press. It’s already generating a number of phone calls. Not surprising considering the size of the reward.”

She didn’t ask how much the Simmers were offering. She knew it would be a lot. “Anything useful?” she asked.

“Hard to tell. We’re following up on everything.”

“Is anyone in the family a suspect?”

He stopped chewing. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you didn’t want me in the investigation area. If none of us are suspects, you wouldn’t care if I saw what you were doing.”

“Do you have reason to believe someone in your family is involved?”

He was turning her questions back on her. Well, she could play this game, too. “What did the polygraphs show?” she asked. “You tested Kim and Kevin, the Simmers, and my parents. Were any of the results suspicious?”

He scratched the tiny indentation in his eyebrow. A tell. Something in the lie detector tests had been suspicious. “Like whose?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “That’s why I’m asking.”

“We didn’t polygraph your father,” he said.

This was news. She tried not to look surprised.

“Or you.” He paused. “Should we?”

“Why didn’t you test my father?”

“It’s a voluntary procedure,” he said. “A way to rule out members of the family so we can concentrate on other possible suspects.”

She looked down at the tiny clusters of green weeds growing between the mildewed pavers. “You didn’t ask me to take a polygraph,” she said. “Did you ask my father?”

“Would you be willing to take a polygraph?”

Her face got hot. She hoped he couldn’t see the flush in the dim light. A lie detector test would likely force her to reveal what she knew about the ransom note. “Of course I’ll take one,” she bluffed. “But you didn’t answer my question about my father.”

He gave a little smile, as though he believed he’d scored a point. “Your father said he’d be willing to take it if we had a basis for suspecting his involvement, but would pass until then.”

“Very lawyerly,” Aubrey said, but her mind was racing. Was her father hiding something, or had he refused on principle? Ethan very likely knew the person he left the carnival with. “I assume you’ve confirmed my father’s flight from California got in after Ethan disappeared, and that he isn’t a suspect?”

Smolleck gave her a hard look. “Yes, we confirmed the flight times and whereabouts of everyone in your family when Ethan disappeared. Is there a reason you believe your father should be a suspect?”

“Of course not,” she said quickly, relieved her father couldn’t have been the one who took Ethan. “I’m just making a logical assumption about why you didn’t press for the polygraph.”

Smolleck scowled, obviously annoyed with her questions. He took another bite of pizza. A bit of cheese and sauce fell on his tie, but he didn’t notice. For some reason, this gave her satisfaction.

“Why were you asking me about my mother’s and father’s past?”

“What do you know about their political leanings back in college?” he asked.

“Political leanings?” She wondered whether this could have something to do with Jonathan. “My parents never felt strongly about politics.”

“That you know about.”

“Why would they hide that from me?”

“I don’t know. Do they hide things from you?”

She didn’t answer.

He was watching her, waiting.

“We don’t talk about a lot of things,” she said. “It isn’t a question of hiding.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Of course you did.
She was breathing too hard. He had gotten to her again, and she was failing miserably at getting information. She took a long drink of soda, conscious of the way he was watching her for tells, just like the way she was watching him. “We’ve gotten away from what I wanted to talk to you about,” she said.

“Have we?”

“Yes. What progress have you made? You said you were checking into sex offenders. Have you found any leads?”

“We’ve identified all registered SOs in the area, and we’re investigating them. We’re also looking into all of the carnival employees.” He tried to lean back in the wrought iron chair, as though he were getting comfortable, but the heavy chair didn’t budge. He gave up and rested his arms on the table, steepling his fingers.

What the heck was he feeling so confident about? “What about Ryan Cole’s parents?” she asked. “Did you know that after the civil trial was over, they tried to bring criminal charges against my mother?”

“We know that.”

“And that in the courthouse, Mr. Cole made a scene and swore they would get even with my mother?”

He flattened his hands against the table. “What kind of scene?”

She was back in control. “Cole shouted across the room at my mother. Called her a murderer.”

“I see.” He reached into his pocket and tapped something into his phone. “I’ll make sure Detective Gonzalez knows about that. The police are following up on the Coles.” He met her eye. “Is there anything else you want to ask about to confirm we’re doing our job?”

She ignored his sarcasm. It was time to ask the questions that really mattered. “Has anyone gotten a ransom demand?”

“You mean other than you or your mother?”

Her face heated up again. Was it possible he knew about the note her mother had received and was playing her?

“You would obviously know if you had been contacted, and I imagine your mother would have told you if she had.” His tone was gentler. For some reason, he was retreating from their little sparring match. “And, no. No one’s contacted your brother, his wife, or the Simmers, but we’re monitoring their cell phones and e-mail accounts.”

“Not mine or my dad’s?”

“Not at this time,” he said. “We only got a court order for family members who were likely to be contacted with a ransom demand.”

Aubrey looked at the pizza crust in her hand so that Smolleck couldn’t read her face. “What about regular mail? Are you checking that?”

“Obviously,” he said.

She tried to keep her voice neutral. “Did one of your people bring the mail in today and check it?”

She followed his glance back at the FBI crew inside the brightly lit family room. “Yes,” he said.

“There were a lot of people in the house today,” Aubrey said. “FBI, police. Are you keeping track of everyone? Have they all been background-checked?”

He stiffened. “Do you have any reason to believe someone tampered with the mail?”

This wasn’t going the way she wanted. She needed to back off before she inadvertently revealed anything about the ransom note. She met his gaze. “Special Agent Smolleck. We don’t know who took Ethan or why. I want to be sure my mother and I aren’t in any danger sleeping in our own home.”

“Is that what you’re really worried about?” He didn’t look away.

Blood pounded in her ears. “What I’m really worried about is getting Ethan back.” She stood up. “And I hope you are, too.”

She hurried out of the patio before he could ask her any more questions, because it was becoming clear that all her expertise in analyzing human behavior was worthless in a sparring match with a master.

C
HAPTER
13

Diana left the park and stood on South Bayshore Drive waiting for traffic to break. A number of cars sped past, heading toward downtown Coconut Grove. Probably people heading out to dinner or going home after working late.

She couldn’t go home.

Not yet.

Not with the FBI creeping around.

She flagged down a passing taxi and got in. It was a little past seven, and Jonathan wouldn’t arrive in Miami for a half hour or so, but she could wait for him at his apartment.

She gave the driver his Brickell Avenue address, a couple of miles away, then called Aubrey to tell her where she was going so she wouldn’t worry. There was no point in calling Smolleck. Her phone had GPS if they were interested in locating her. Instead, she texted Jonathan to meet her at his apartment. He’d see the message when his plane landed.

She pressed “Send,” and shuddered. Jonathan and the FBI now knew where she would be. Did whoever was threatening her know, too? The taxi turned onto Brickell Avenue and headed toward downtown, passing luxury high-rises that overlooked Biscayne Bay. She was uncertain about what she would do when she saw Jonathan. Whether she would tell him about the note. He had a brilliant mind; maybe he could help figure out who had sent it and what to do next.

She was jolted out of her thoughts as the taxi stopped in front of Jonathan’s towering building, a recently built condo with all the amenities of a five-star hotel. She’d been surprised the first time Jonathan had brought her here. The building’s modern marble facade didn’t fit her image of the unassuming man who loved to talk about economic theory and ancient civilizations. But Jonathan had explained that he’d bought the condo shortly after his wife died. A place with twenty-four-hour room service had been a good choice for a widower who didn’t know how to cook and had no interest in learning.

She paid the driver, then walked through the high-ceilinged lobby filled with abstract art to the elevator bank. She input the security code, and the private elevator zipped her up to Jonathan’s apartment on the forty-second floor. In the outer foyer to the apartment, she input the code again and was hit by a blast of icy air as she opened the door. She shivered as she turned on the lights, which bounced off white-marble floors, white furnishings, and white walls. There were a few bursts of crimson from strategically placed paintings and heavy glass paperweights on the coffee table and on the shelves on either side of the gigantic flat-screen TV.

A decorator had designed the interior, clearly with no understanding of the sensibilities of the man who would be living here. A man who loved books, not television, and who wore ten-year-old suits, not the latest fashion. But maybe Jonathan had wanted something devoid of warmth and personality when his wife died after battling cancer for several years.

Diana glanced at the rectangular Lalique crystal tray on the entryway table. It was an antique piece with three compartments, a piece the decorator had been very pleased with. But Jonathan had altered it to serve his own purposes. With a labeling gun, he had made blue stickers that he’d affixed to each compartment that held his keys: Car, House, Office.
What’s wrong with labels?
he’d asked when the horrified decorator saw his handiwork.

Diana picked up the keys to the black Ford SUV, which he’d owned forever and had no intention of getting rid of. She put the keys down, turned the A/C up to seventy-five, then went into the bedroom and got Jonathan’s burgundy sweater from his closet. He was a small man, and the sweater was only slightly large on her. She could smell his scent on it, the aftershave he often used. Eau Sauvage. He had once told her he’d been wearing it since college, which didn’t surprise her at all.

She heaved open the balky balcony door and stepped outside. The wind was strong out there, so she closed the door behind her to keep it from blowing everything around inside.

The balcony was narrow, barely wide enough for furniture, but it wrapped around the entire apartment. She leaned against the balustrade, taking in the impressive view.

To the north were buildings that had once been the skyscrapers of Miami but now looked like mere toys relative to the new construction. To the south, the bay stretched off into darkness until it reached the bridge from the mainland to Key Biscayne. She could see the lights of the cars crossing, like two rows of tiny diamonds.

She looked down at the engagement ring Jonathan had given her, with its halo of diamonds.

Did someone really believe she would kill Jonathan in exchange for Ethan’s life?

She held on to the railing. Directly below was a square of green, where she and Jonathan sometimes sat. She was overcome by a powerful wave of dizziness. She pulled herself back. The wind whipped her hair around. Forty-two stories up.

No one would survive a fall from this height.

Could she do it to save Ethan’s life?

She looked out toward the black bay, at the tiny lights on the bridge. They began to blur.

Was saving her grandson worth the price of Jonathan’s life?

A rolling noise behind her startled her.

“Here you are, darling.” Jonathan was beside her in one stride. He hugged her against him. “I’m so, so sorry.”

She buried her head against his neck and felt the light scratch of his evening whiskers, smelled the Eau Sauvage and his own scent that she had come to love. He was wearing an overcoat. He had come from Washington to be with her. Because he loved her.

She cupped his gentle face with her trembling hands and looked at him. A few wrinkles on his freckled skin, mostly laugh lines behind the horn-rimmed glasses, around his hazel eyes. The wind blew a few reddish-gray hairs across his bald spot.

“I’m here now, darling,” he said. “I’ve come to take care of you.”

The pressure and pain that had been building since Ethan disappeared rose to the surface, and the terror she had held back broke loose.

She clung to the man she loved and whom she had, for one brief instant, considered killing.

And for the first time since her grandson had gone missing, she began to cry.