Chương 7
“My daughter is in a hospital bed.”
“Yes.”
“Your client stood over her after his son assaulted her and discussed what story to tell.”
Vane’s face did not move.
“That is an allegation.”
“I have a witness.”
“Who?”
I smiled without humor.
“You were good at your job too.”
“I still am.”
He glanced toward Emily’s door.
“May I tell you one thing without you turning it into a threat?”
“You can try.”
“Get her out of the company.”
“What?”
“Get Emily out.”
His voice had dropped.
“Tonight, tomorrow, whenever she is medically able to act, she needs independent representation and she needs to separate herself from Whitmore Development.”
“That sounds remarkably close to advice against your own client.”
“It is advice to you as her father.”
“Why?”
His jaw tightened.
“I can’t discuss privileged matters.”
“Then you shouldn’t have started.”
He looked tired suddenly.
Not theatrical tiredness.
Real fatigue, with a grayness beneath his eyes.
“Richard has spent thirty years believing every problem can be converted into a transaction.”
“And Grant?”
“Grant believes every relationship already is one.”
That was the first thing Vane said that sounded personal.
“You don’t like him.”
“Whether I like Grant is irrelevant.”
“Usually when lawyers say something is irrelevant, it’s the interesting part.”
He glanced toward the deputy, who had moved far enough away to pretend he was not listening.
“Emily refusing to sign today changed the situation.”
“How?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“Because of privilege?”
“Yes.”
“Or because you’re protecting yourself?”
His gaze settled on mine.
“Those possibilities are not mutually exclusive.”
I had not expected honesty.
That made me trust him less.
The elevator doors opened behind him.
Margaret Whitmore stepped out.
She was still wearing the pale green dress she had worn at the house.
One sleeve had a dark smear near the cuff.
Not blood.
Dirt, maybe.
She saw me, then Vane.
Her controlled expression collapsed for a fraction of a second.
“You,” she said to him.
Vane closed his eyes.
“Margaret.”
“You were told to go to the house.”
“I was told several things.”
She came closer.
“Richard needs you.”
“Richard has two other attorneys.”
“This isn’t the time for independence, Charles.”
“No.”
Vane looked toward Emily’s room.
“I’m beginning to think it’s exactly the time.”
Margaret followed his gaze and spotted me fully.
Her face hardened.
“You should be ashamed of what you’ve done to this family.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
The sound surprised all three of us.
Margaret’s cheeks colored.
“My daughter called me for help.”
“And you brought police into our home.”
“After your son blocked the porch with a baseball bat.”
“He was afraid of you.”
That was so absurd I nearly laughed again.
Instead I said, “Where is Richard?”
Margaret froze.
Vane looked at her.
Only then did I notice the thing neither of them had said since she arrived.
Richard was not at the hospital.
Margaret’s fingers tightened around her handbag.
Vane asked, very softly, “What happened?”
She stared at him.
“Charles.”
“What happened to Richard?”
Her composure finally broke.
“He’s gone.”
Vane’s face emptied.
“Gone where?”
“We don’t know.”
“When did you last see him?”
“At the house.”
“Before the deputies arrived?”
Margaret nodded.
“He went into the study.”
“And then?”
She looked at me as though my presence contaminated the answer.
“By the time the police searched the room, he wasn’t there.”
I felt the old investigative part of my mind wake fully.
Doors.
Vehicles.
Cameras.
Phones.
The cream shirt.
The service garden.
Vane’s voice sharpened.
“Did he take his car?”
“No.”
“Phone?”
“It was on his desk.”
“Wallet?”
“I don’t know.”
“What about the files?”
Margaret said nothing.
Vane stepped closer.
“What files, Margaret?”
Her eyes moved to me.
That was answer enough.
Then Emily’s hospital door opened behind us.
She stood there barefoot in a gown, one hand gripping the frame for balance.
Her face was white.
In her other hand she held the prepaid phone.
“Dad.”
I crossed to her.
“You shouldn’t be standing.”
“Rosa just texted me.”
I stopped.
“What did she say?”
Emily turned the screen toward me.
There was one message.
It contained a photograph taken inside Whitmore House.
Richard stood beside the open study safe in his cream-colored shirt.
A black document case rested at his feet.
The timestamp was eleven minutes after the deputies had entered the property.
Below the photograph, Rosa had written six words.
He knew where the old tunnel was.
I read the message twice before handing the phone to Lena.
“What tunnel?”
Margaret made a sound behind us that was almost a gasp.
Vane turned toward her.
“You knew?”
Margaret’s face tightened.
“It’s an old service passage.”
“From the house to where?”
She looked at me instead of answering him.
“Richard’s grandfather had it built when the original estate was renovated.”
“That was not the question,” Lena said.
Margaret pressed her lips together.
“It comes out beyond the south wall.”
“How far beyond?”
“Maybe two hundred yards.”
“Into what?”
“The old carriage property.”
Lena was already moving.
She told the deputy to contact the officers at Whitmore House, secure the south perimeter, and keep everyone away from the study until photographs and evidence processing were complete.
The deputy hurried toward the elevators.
Emily swayed against the doorframe.
I put an arm around her without asking.
She did not resist.
“Back in bed.”
“I’m not a child.”
“You’re concussed.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It is for the next five minutes.”
She muttered something unkind about retired investigators.
I helped her back into the room.
Lena stayed in the doorway with Emily’s phone.
“Rosa took this after police arrived?”
Emily nodded.
“She must have.”
“Why didn’t she show an officer?”
“I don’t know.”
Margaret answered from the corridor.
“Because she was afraid.”
We all looked at her.
Margaret’s composure had returned in pieces, though not enough to hide the trembling in her right hand.
“She has worked for us thirteen years.”
May you like
Emily stared at her.
“That didn’t stop you from ordering her away when I asked for help.”
