The Trophy Hunter (21 page)

“Siblings?” asked Diana.

Jess took another drag on the cognac.
“Brothers. Two, older as I recall. And a sister. Younger.”

Something in her tone brought Diana fully
awake. “Did you interview any of these people?”

Jess looked into the cognac snifter. “I
located the two brothers. Nasty bastards. Said they didn’t keep in
touch with their little brother. They were weirdos. Not at all like
Darren came across…at first.”

“What about the sister?” Diana asked.

Placing the empty snifter on the hearth, Jess
shook her head. “Pathetic. She was an obese cow. When I mentioned
Darren, she slammed the door in my face.”

Diana sat upright. “Didn’t you find that
reaction worth mentioning?”

“Not at the time.” In the firelight, Diana
saw concern creeping into Jess’s expression. “I just thought how
hard it must be, to look like that…and have a brother who looked
like Darren.”

“Are you aware,” Diana began softly, “that
one of the defenses abused women use is the destruction of their
own bodies? Sometimes it’s done with food.”

Jess slowly unfurled her six feet, stretched
and shook her head. “Diana, he has certificates of commendation for
bravery. He’s the cop they sent in to interview rape victims
because of his sensitivity. I should analyze his sister? Gimme a
break.”

Diana arose also, and the two proceeded into
the kitchen where they rinsed their glasses and set them aside.
Rogart questions still popped up in Diana’s head like carnival
targets. “Did you interview any of Rogart’s fellow officers?” she
asked.

“Yeah, in fact I did. To a man, they spoke
highly of him.”

“Ah,” replied Diana, pointing finger at Jess
gotcha-style. “What about the women he worked with? Did they
corroborate his sensitivity?”

Jess muffled a giggle.

“Okay, what? Did I say something funny?”
Diana started the dishwasher. A harrumph of gushing water drowned
out Jess’s response.

Jess tried again. “I said, when I mentioned
his name, they just smiled.”

“That does it. You know where the guest room
is. And the linen closet. Get your own sheets.”

As she climbed the stairs, she could hear
Jess laughing softly a few steps behind her.

Chapter 36

Diana parked the rented car about a quarter
of a mile from the Flannigan residence. She chose a small park
where trees were leafing out in the lengthening March days, and
patches of green grass were expanding against brown
backgrounds.

Hers was the only vehicle in the gravel
parking area. The chains to the kiddy swings hung motionless. The
park was empty except for a pair of black squirrels playing tag in
the Scotch pines. Kids were in school at this hour, and it was
still too cold for most young mothers to take their little ones out
to play.

She wore sunglasses and had tucked her auburn
hair under a baseball cap.
Two can play at this game, Mr.
Flannigan.

Darren Rogart hadn’t called since the night
they’d had dinner at her house. Part of her thought this was just
as well. Especially so since Jess’s discovery that he also seemed
to be on intimate terms with the Widow Strickland.

In the light of day, she was unwilling to
embrace Jess’s theory that all the hunting buds were in on
something nefarious. A part of her—one Diana wished she could
eradicate—still held on to the irrational hope that Rogart was the
victim of circumstance and his father-in-law’s wrath. The fact that
he had a fat sister didn’t mean he’d abused her, did it?

What couldn’t be denied was the probability
that Shane Cutler, not Larry Strickland, had seduced Lori Rogart.
If Rogart had known about the seduction, that meant he’d lied about
the “sick” trade-off between Flannigan and Strickland. It would
explain why Rogart was unwilling to call what happened to Lori
“rape.” If these things were true, he was an unfit father, just as
Flannigan had said. An alley cat, like Greg. She made herself look
at the mounting body of evidence.

And she thought of her parents. In spite of
everything she knew, she was repeating her mother’s mistake.
Winston was right. The only difference between Darren and Greg was
the packaging.

But she couldn’t shake the thought of the
children involved. Especially Lori. Who else had known about Shane
Cutler’s role in Lori’s…what should she call it, if not rape? Not
Joe Flannigan. She was convinced he was incapable of faking the
outrage he’d shown. But that didn’t make him any better than his
son-in-law—still an abuser and a stalker, who had maybe killed the
wrong man, Strickland, for the wrong reasons. Or at least helped
his daughter hide from justice after
she
killed Strickland.
Diana had to catch Rena Flannigan alone. Rena and the Rogart
children needed protection.

According to their plan, Jess would be
scoping out the Rogart residence in Franktown about now. She hoped
that between them, they could come up with some evidence that could
be taken to the authorities with the reasonable expectation that
the appropriate agency would follow through to ensure the welfare
of Rena and the children.

Movement in the Flannigan driveway caught
Diana’s attention as a woman’s small figure picked up what appeared
to be a newspaper, then returned to the house. Kind of late for the
morning paper, she thought.

The silver Ram wasn’t in the driveway as it
had been on her previous visit. Did that only mean it was in the
garage? She had no way of knowing.

Diana waited, trying to decide whether or not
to approach the house. She glanced at her watch. Two-thirty. She
pulled out her cell and pressed in Jess’s number.

“Anything?” asked Jess.

“His truck’s not here,” said Diana. “What
about you?”

“I’m on a hill above the house. So far, no
signs of life. Guess the kids are in school.”

“No Trisha?”

“No Trisha, no Darren. Tan truck in the
driveway. They must sleep very late.” Jess ended with a wicked
chuckle.

“I’ll keep you posted. You do the same.”
Diana pulled the rented Honda Civic out of the park and headed
toward the Flannigan residence. Even if Joe was there, what could
he do besides yell at her?

When Rena Flannigan answered the door, Diana
hardly recognized her—wouldn’t have if not for her beautiful dark
eyes. Rena looked bloated. Like she’d put on weight. A blue scarf
covered her head. No long braid peeked out below it.

“Mrs. Flannigan, remember me? I’m--”

“I remember you, Mrs., Martin.”

“Could we speak? Privately?”

Rena stood blocking the entrance. “Go ahead.”
Rena’s expression told her nothing. Tired was the only message she
was getting. Diana looked nervously behind herself, then into the
room.

“He’s not likely to be back anytime soon,”
said Rena, “if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Diana blinked, not knowing how to respond at
first. “May I come inside?”

Rena opened the door wider, then stood aside,
her only invitation a curt jerk of her head. Diana entered the
house with trepidation. She belatedly thought of her car parked
outside for Flannigan to see. Though he wouldn’t know it was her
car, until he let himself in the house—maybe through a back
door…

I’ll never make a good detective.

“What is it you want?” She didn’t invite
Diana to sit down. Or offer her coffee.

They stood just inside the front door, in the
entry hall. Diana could see the trophy heads in the living room.
More of them than she remembered. Though the house smelled clean
and fresh, she felt overpowered by the animal heads, imagined the
odor of dead carcasses.

“I wanted to talk to you about your
grandchildren. And your husband,” Diana finally began.

“Thanks to you, we hardly ever see Lori and
Keith,” said Rena. “You want t’ know about Joe? His heart is so
broke over it all that he goes off for hours…sometimes days…into
the mountains to grieve for our daughter. And the grandkids we
can’t even visit.” Tears welled in Rena’s eyes. Her lower lip began
to quiver.

She’s ill. Stress can do that.

“I never meant to add to your pain. Darren
Rogart just took the kids. I didn’t help him, if that’s what you’re
thinking.”

Rena shook her head. “That’s not what I’m
thinkin’.” Fatigue seemed to overtake her as she walked unsteadily
into the living room and sat down on a leather sofa.

Diana followed her and took a seat opposite,
facing the front window. “There’s talk in Westcliffe that your
daughter may still be alive. And that your husband knows it.”

Rena shook her head vehemently. “That makes
no sense.”

“Is it possible that a mistake was made about
who assaulted Lori?”

“Mistake?” Rena rose up from the sofa, then
sank back down. “No mistake! My daughter knew who had Lori. She
heard him on the phone with Darren.”

“But your husband told me it was Larry
Strickland. My friend Jess has reason to believe it was someone
else.”

Rena’s mouth dropped open. She looked
confused as she slowly replied, “Not Larry? But…when she dropped
off Keith…”

“Did your daughter tell you she heard Larry
on the phone with Darren?”

Rena shook her head, her expression wild and
searching. “I just assumed…because they found Lori in his
cabin…”

“What did Brandi tell you?”

“She brought Keith over about nine o’clock at
night. Told me about hearin’ Darren on the phone and knowin’ who
had Lori. She wanted Joe t’ go with her, but he was at AA.” Tears
coursed down Rena’s puffy cheeks. “We tried his cell, but he didn’t
pick up. I wanted t’ call the police, but she wouldn’t have it.
See, they never did take her serious. She said she had to find Lori
with the guy before they’d believe her. They got so many runaway
girls, and who knows what Darren told his cop buddies.”

Diana got up and went to Rena, put a hand on
her arm. What she was about to say seemed cruel, but Diana couldn’t
think of any way to avoid it. “There’s talk in Westcliffe that your
husband may be helping your daughter hide out.”

A flood of absolute disbelief crossed Rena’s
face. “No. I’d know if that was goin’ on. Joe’s no good at hidin’
anythin’. It’d be all over that big Irish face o’ his. No.” Rena
buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

“You love your husband. In spite of--”

Rena’s face screwed up in a frown as her
fists pushed away the tears. “In spite o’ what?”

“I saw the bruises, Rena. I heard him yell at
you.”

“What’s a little yellin’? I can yell too, if
I’ve a mind to.” The dark eyes flashed, cutting Diana down. “You
wanna know about the bruises? I got leukemia.” Rena jerked off the
scarf. Diana stared at her bald head. “See what chemo does, Mrs.
Martin? The bruises didn’t come from Joe. It’s the leukemia done
it. He never laid a hand on me or Brandi.”

Chapter 37

How could I have gotten it so wrong?

“It wasn’t just the bruises and Joe’s
yelling,” said Diana. “You acted…scared…nervous. Rena, you even
spilled the coffee, you were so upset.”

“How could you know? The doctor’s office
called just a minute before you got here. They had my test results.
Joe didn’t know. I thought it might finish him off.”

Diana lowered her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m still alive. Beats the alternative.”
Rena managed a feeble smile. “Hair’ll grow back.” She put the scarf
back on. “I can brew some coffee if you like.”

“I don’t want to trouble you…any more than I
already have.”

Rena got up. “No trouble. Let’s go to the
kitchen.” Diana got up tentatively, then glanced again through the
front window.

“He really won’t be back anytime soon. I
often wish it wa’n’t so, but it is. Now that the weather’s warmin’
up, I imagine he’ll be gone for days at a stretch.”

In the kitchen, Rena put water and coffee in
the enamel-covered coffee maker, and then set it on the stove to
brew. She turned and fixed Diana in her dark gaze. “Darren Rogart
is evil, Mrs. Martin. He catches women like a spider does
flies.”

Diana shuddered inwardly. Another voice. The
same refrain.
Not proof.

“How did Darren get involved with your
daughter?” asked Diana. She pushed out the words, trying to wrap
her brain around a line of questioning that would rid her of that
sticky feeling—the feeling she got when she ran into a spider
web.

Rena took a seat across from her and folded
her hands. “Joe blames himself for that, too.” She paused to reach
up and smooth out the scarf on her head. “When Brandi was fifteen,
her bicycle got stole in Denver. She called her daddy in tears. Joe
took off for the mall where she was and called the Denver cops.
Guess who they sent?”

Diana filled in the obvious. “A handsome
young officer named Darren Rogart.”

“Only he wasn’t as young as he looked. Darren
was thirty-one and Brandi, only fifteen. He wormed his way into our
family like he does whenever he wants somethin’. Like he did with
Joe’s huntin’ pals. Pretty soon they were Darren’s and Joe was just
some old fogy to ‘em. Anyhow, before we knew it, our little girl
was pregnant. But Darren said he wanted t’ do the right thing.
How’d we know it would’ve been better if she’d just had the baby?
I’d’a raised Lori. You know how many times we wished we’d just gone
and bought her a new bike, never made that call?”

“Don’t blame yourself. He seems to be…a
professional charmer.”

“More like a male whore,” said Rena as she
got up to check on the coffee. “Hasn’t had a real job since he got
out o’ jail.”

Her frankness surprised Diana. Before she
could comment, Rena continued, “She was gonna divorce him for sure
this time. That much she told me the night she went after Lori. She
told him before she left, but she didn’t tell him what set it
off—didn’t want no chance of him tellin’…if it wasn’t Larry, who
then?”