Chương 10
“What kind of dog is that?”
Mara looked at her.
“Seriously?”
“I’m trying not to ask my son why he looks exactly like his father did the week before he died.”
Adrian’s head turned.
Margaret immediately regretted the sentence.
That, more than anything she had said, made her seem human.
Bruno sniffed her shoe.
“Mixed breed,” Mara said.
“Mostly shepherd, probably.”
“He’s handsome.”
“He steals socks.”
Vincent lowered himself onto the hood of a police cruiser.
“Finally, information I can process.”
Adrian walked toward the edge of the garage.
Mara watched him stop near the concrete barrier.
His shoulders were rigid.
She followed after a moment.
Below them, traffic moved through wet streets.
A bus paused at an intersection.
Someone ran across the crosswalk with a newspaper held uselessly above his head.
“Did you know your father was looking for Rourke?” Mara asked.
“No.”
“Did you know he was investigating the accounts?”
“No.”
“Did you know your sister created them?”
“No.”
She waited.
Vale looked at her.
“I’m aware of the pattern.”
“That wasn’t what I was going to say.”
“What were you going to say?”
“I don’t know.”
His mouth almost moved into a smile.
Almost.
Behind them, Margaret was speaking quietly with the detective.
Mara lowered her voice.
“Your mother came because Warren mentioned me.”
“Yes.”
“Your father had my name.”
“Yes.”
“And somebody broke into my apartment.”
“Yes.”
“You could stop agreeing.”
“You’re the auditor.”
“I’m regretting several career choices.”
Vale looked back toward the garage.
“Don’t trust my mother.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
“That was fast.”
“It took thirty-eight years.”
Mara studied him.
There were questions she could ask and questions people asked because silence frightened them.
She chose neither.
The detective returned.
His expression had changed.
Not panic.
Something more irritating.
Professional caution.
“The Harbor East unit just checked in.”
Mara straightened.
“And?”
“The warehouse is burning.”
Vincent stood too quickly and winced.
“What?”
“Fire department got the first call seven minutes ago.”
Mara looked at the timestamp on the message still displayed on her phone in the detective’s hand.
The countdown.
The address.
“They weren’t sending us there.”
Vale reached the same conclusion.
“They were warning us.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
Only briefly.
Adrian saw.
“What was in the warehouse?”
She opened them.
“Thomas’s records.”
“We established that.”
“No.”
Her voice was quieter now.
“You established that Thomas hid records there.”
Mara felt the distinction before Margaret finished.
“He didn’t leave them there.”
Vale stared at his mother.
“Where are they?”
Margaret looked toward the sealed evidence bag.
“Eleanor moved them.”
“When?”
“Three days before she died.”
Adrian stopped moving.
Even Vincent said nothing.
Mara’s attention narrowed.
“How did she die?”
Vale answered without looking at her.
“Car accident.”
Margaret’s expression tightened.
“Police report said she lost control.”
“Mother.”
“It was raining.”
“Stop.”
“She had alcohol in her system.”
“I said stop.”
Margaret obeyed.
Mara wished she had not asked.
The detective’s phone buzzed again.
He read the screen.
“Fire department says the building was empty.”
“Empty how?” Mara asked.
“No stored materials.”
Margaret nodded faintly.
“Because Eleanor cleared it.”
“Then why burn it tonight?”
Mara looked at the drive.
No one answered.
Vincent pushed himself away from the cruiser.
“Because somebody doesn’t know she cleared it.”
The detective looked at him.
“Or they know and want us to think evidence was destroyed.”
Mara turned toward Margaret.
“Where did Eleanor take the records?”
“I never knew.”
“That’s convenient.”
“Yes.”
Margaret’s answer came without defensiveness.
“It has been convenient for eleven years.”
Adrian looked at her.
She met his eyes.
“I let you believe your father was ashamed of financial misconduct because it was easier than telling you he believed Eleanor had uncovered something dangerous.”
“You let me spend eleven years thinking he stole from his own company.”
“I let you hate a dead man because the alternative was giving you someone living to chase.”
The words landed between them without drama.
That made them worse.
Adrian’s voice was very quiet.
“Who?”
Margaret looked away.
Mara saw the answer before Adrian did.
Not a name.
Fear.
Real fear.
The kind people carried so long it stopped looking like fear and became personality.
The detective saw it too.
“Mrs. Vale.”
Margaret took a breath.
“I don’t know.”
Adrian laughed once.
“Of course.”
“I knew Thomas suspected someone.”
“Who?”
“He never told me.”
“Because you didn’t ask?”
“Because after Eleanor died, I begged him to stop.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
“And did he?”
“For six months.”
Mara looked at the evidence bag.
“Then he contacted Warren.”
Margaret nodded.
“He needed someone outside the company.”
“Why Warren?”
“He trusted people who disliked him.”
Vincent murmured, “That does sound like Warren.”
The detective received another radio call.
This time Mara watched his face rather than trying to hear the words.
His eyes went to the evidence bag.
Then to Margaret.
Then to Mara.
“What?”
He lowered the radio.
“The man at St. Vincent’s finally gave them a name.”
“His?”
“No.”
The garage seemed to contract around the answer.
“He says Michael Rourke hired him.”
Margaret went completely still.
Vale stepped toward the detective.
“You said Rourke disappeared nine years ago.”
“My mother said that.”
Margaret whispered, “He did.”
Mara looked at her.
“Apparently not.”
“No.”
Margaret’s face had lost its color.
“You don’t understand.”
“Then help.”
Margaret stared at the black drive through the clear plastic evidence bag.
“When Thomas stopped searching for Michael, it wasn’t because he couldn’t find him.”
Adrian’s voice hardened.
“Why did he stop?”
Margaret looked at her son.
“Because Michael Rourke came to our house.”
The detective said, “When?”
“Five years after Eleanor died.”
Mara did the arithmetic.
“Four years before he disappeared.”
Margaret shook her head.
“No.”
Her gloved fingers tightened around the strap of her handbag.
“Four years before everyone else was told he disappeared.”
Nobody interrupted her now.
“He sat in our kitchen for nearly three hours.”
Margaret swallowed.
“Thomas made coffee.”
A strange, pained smile touched her mouth.
May you like
“Terrible coffee.”
Adrian looked down.
