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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

When I start passing out the papers to the class, Golfer Gary asks, “Oh man, is this a pop quiz?”

“I hate those.”

“This isn’t fair, Kierce,” Lenny whines. “No one told us we had to study.”

“It’s not a pop quiz,” I say. “It’s a Non-Disclosure Agreement. I have a case. I thought it might be fun for you to participate.”

“Like being junior detectives?”

“Something like that.”

“Do we get badges?” Raymond asks.

I hadn’t noticed him before, but he wasn’t on the student list. “What are you doing here, Raymond?”

“Right,” he says with a chuckle. “Like you don’t need my help.”

I look at Debbie. She shrugs. “He followed me,” she says.

“No badges,” I say. “Read it over. If you’re okay with it, Polly here is a notary. She’ll witness your signatures.”

“And if we aren’t okay with it?”

“I’ll have to ask you to leave,” I say. “My client has insisted on complete discretion. If you can’t abide by that, buh-bye.”

Unsurprisingly, no one leaves. They barely read the document—except for Raymond, who has broken out a monocle like the Planters Peanuts guy. The rest quickly line up to sign. Polly carefully notarizes them. Raymond asks, “Can I get a definition for the word ‘the’ in the last paragraph?”

“It means you’re free to leave whenever you want, Raymond.”

“Funny one, Kierce.”

Raymond signs, Polly notarizes. That’s everyone.

Debbie says, “Okay, so what’s the case?”

“We have two, actually,” I say.

They wait.

“First case you already know about.”

“Victoria Belmond?” Polly asks.

“Yes.”

“Who is hiring us?”

Us . Already with the us . “It’s confidential. Always. Everything about this case is confidential. Ethically. Morally. And legally. Are we all clear?”

“Do we get paid?” Raymond asks.

“No. It’s part of your studies. I have assignments for all of you. Well, not you, Raymond.”

“Better,” Raymond says. “Let me fly solo.”

“Like a witch on an airplane wing,” I say.

Raymond likes that. He makes a finger gun and drops the hammer. “Exactamundo.”

“What kind of assignments?” Gary asks.

“Mostly background and research. There might be some surveillance too.”

“What’s the second case?” Polly asks.

I swallow because this is hard to say. “The murder of Nicole Brett.”

Silence.

They all know.

I figure one of them will ask a question. But none of them do. They just sit in silence and wait.

I clear my throat. “A man named Tad Grayson was convicted of the murder, but he was recently released from prison on a technicality. If we can get enough new evidence, perhaps we can get the Manhattan DA to retry him. Nicole Brett was a decorated rookie police officer with the NYPD when Tad Grayson gunned her down. She was—”

My voice catches. I stop for a second.

Polly stands. “We know who she was, Kierce.”

I look around at the solemn, pitying faces and say, “I’ll brief everyone on their assignments.”

Thomas Belmond’s converted farmhouse is stone and tasteful and rich and clean and decorated like it’s ready for its Architectural Digest close-up. Thomas and his wife, Madeline, also fit the bill. Thomas looks like he’s getting off a yacht in Hyannis Port. He is youthful and healthy and tan. He sports an untucked blue Oxford shirt, jeans, sockless loafers. His face is beneath-the-skin clean-shaven and glowing. Madeline is a central casting match for him. She is lovely and blond and trim and has perfect skin and perfect teeth. Neither has a sweater tied around the neck, but I feel as though they should.

One of their two daughters bounds down the stairs as I arrive.

“Carly is picking me up in two,” she says to her parents, not yet seeing me. “Stacy’s upstairs studying. She’s got the Calculus midterms.”

Vicki notices me and before her parents need to prompt her, she comes over to me and sticks out her hand. “Hi, I’m Vicki.”

“I’m Sami Kierce.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Kierce.”

Vicki smiles at me with Mom’s perfect smile. I smile back. She is a breath of fresh air, the sort of person who walks in a room and you can’t help but feel the room is made better. Her parents understandably beam. I know from the bios the Pink Panthers prepared that Vicki is eighteen, a senior in high school, and it strikes me how youthful and vibrant she is, even during this short meet and greet, and how she is at the exact same stage of life as her aunt Victoria was when she vanished.

“What time will you be back?” her father asks.

“Not long. We’re just going to watch The Bachelor at Jamie’s.”

Vicki hugs her parents. Not a duteous touch. A bona fide embrace. Both Thomas and Madeline close their eyes and soak it in. It almost feels unreal to me, like I’m watching a performance, except there is the definitive whiff of authenticity to it. This isn’t a show for me. This is what they’re like.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Kierce,” Vicki says, heading to the front door.

“You too,” I say.

A moment later, Vicki is gone. We all just stand there as though a tornado has passed through and left everything intact.

“Please,” Madeline says. “Let’s sit in the living room.”

They take the plush sofa with floral patterns. I take a matching armchair across from them.

“Would you like something to drink, Mr. Kierce?” Madeline asks me.

I tell her to call me Sami and say that I’ll have what they’re having. Turns out it’s iced tea. It’s too late at night for iced tea, but I find some people get comforted when you accept their hospitality.

Thomas crosses his legs, then uncrosses them. He tries to smile but it falters. Then he says to me, “I don’t know how I feel about this.”

“This being?” I ask.

“Opening this all up again. Kicking the beehive. We all want to know the truth, but…”

He stops. Madeline takes his hand. I see the concern on her face.

“Never mind,” Thomas says, forcing back up the still-faltering smile. “Ask me anything. What do you want to know?”

“Can you tell me about that New Year’s Eve?”

The faltering smile drops off his face like I just told him his dog died. Madeline looks concerned.

“Thomas?” she says.

“It’s my fault, Mr. Kierce,” he says to me. “You probably know that.”

“I’m not here looking to place blame.”

“Victoria called me that night. I didn’t answer.”

He’s so agitated, I worry Madeline will ask me to leave.

“Let’s start at the beginning,” I say. “Victoria and her friends planned to celebrate the new millennium at McCabe’s Pub in New York City. They needed someone twenty-five years old to sign a release. Is that correct?”

Thomas nods. “That was irresponsible of me.”

“But understandable,” I say, trying to seem a sympathetic ally. “My older brother used to buy me beers when I was in high school. I appreciated that.”

This isn’t true, but you see what I’m doing.

“I was a mess back then,” Thomas says. “I imagine you’ve done some background work.”

“I have.”

“So you know I drank too much. I had four DUIs. There was a minor drug charge when I was in college.”

“Thomas, I’m not here to relitigate any of that. But you said what happened was your fault. Could you tell me what you mean by that?”

He takes a deep breath.

Madeline whispers, “It’s okay, honey.” She gives me a semibaleful look. “It’s hard for him,” she says. “Bringing this all up.”

“I’m sorry for that,” I say, and I mean it. Thomas seems genuinely distraught, and I don’t want to add to that. According to the locals, Thomas is a good guy. He contributes to lots of causes. He has stayed out of trouble. I’m still pissed off about his behavior when I trespassed, but I get what it’s like to be overprotective of a loved one. Here is something I’m just going to say with the huge caveat that yes, it’s a snap judgement and snap judgements are often wrong: I think what I see in front of me is basically a good man. Maybe it was the hug from the daughter. Maybe it’s the way his lovely wife cares about him. His sister’s disappearance was obviously a huge trauma for him. I get that, and I sympathize. It won’t make me back off. A good detective recognizes and worries about sensibilities, but he doesn’t let them deter him.

I turn my attention back to Thomas and wait.

“I drove Vic to that party,” he says. “She and one of her friends—Caroline, I think—wanted to get there early to set up.”

“Set up?”

“Decorate the room, hang up New Year’s posters, stuff like that.” Thomas smiles at his wife while still speaking to me. “Vic was that kind of kid. Always responsible. Always looking out for others.” Now he turns back to me. “Do you want to hear something awful?”

I don’t know how to reply, so I just try to look interested.

“I was already half wasted when I drove her.”

“Do you think she knew?”

“That I was under the influence? Probably. I was just oblivious. Vic was my goofy little sister. I was too wrapped up in my own stuff to see her, you know what I mean?”

I nod that I do.

“I was in a very dark place back then. My girlfriend, Lacy, had just dumped me. I was spiraling.” He smiles now. It’s no longer faltering, but it may be the saddest smile I’ve ever seen. “And Victoria saw that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Vic saw how low I was. During that ride. She tried to talk me into staying.”

“At McCabe’s Pub?”

“Yes. She said she was worried about me, that she didn’t want me to be alone. So she kept saying I should go to her party.” The sad smile is still there. “And you know something? I almost did. I remember pulling up to the bar and her trying one more time to convince me and I almost said yes, but I mean, if there is anything more pathetic than being alone on New Year’s Eve, it’s going to your little sister’s high school party when you’re twenty-five years old.”

Fair point. “You said you broke up with your girlfriend.”

“She broke up with me, yes. The day before.”

“This would be Lacy Monroe?”

“That’s right.”

“But you told the FBI you ended up at her place that night.”

“I did. That’s just it. After I dropped off my sister, I came back home and hung out by myself in our home theater. I had quite the pity party. I watched an old movie. I drank a lot. I did a fair number of drugs. I mean, I was blitzed. At some point, Lacy called me.”

I nod. “According to the FBI file, that would have been at 1:21 a.m.”

“That sounds about right.”

“What did Lacy say?”

“It was a classic drunk dial. She missed me, she loved me, she was sorry and wanted me back. You know the deal.”

“All too well,” I say.

Thomas sits up a little. “I hope it’s not insensitive for me to say I know. When Mom wanted to hire you, our security guys at Belmond did a quick background check. They said you drank.”

“I did,” I say.

“But you’ve been sober for several years now.”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Thomas says. “I’m glad. It’s not an easy journey.”

I don’t know whether he’s working me with this bonding moment or if it’s legit. Don’t care either. “So after Lacy called,” I continue, “you went to her place?”

“Yes. She dumped me a few days later. Our whole relationship was what they now correctly label ‘toxic.’”

“Okay,” I say. “You mentioned before that your sister also called you that night.”

He swallows. “That’s right.”

“According again to the phone records, this was at 11:04 p.m., a few minutes before she’s spotted leaving McCabe’s Pub.”

He says nothing. Madeline says nothing.

“And,” I add, “the call only lasted one minute.”

“That’s because I didn’t answer,” Thomas says. He closes his eyes. Again I’ve seen some good acting in my time, and I’m not saying I buy everything he’s saying, but there is little doubt in my mind that his regret is authentic.

Madeline looks at her husband, his head lowered now, and again I see the concern on her face.

“Maybe we should take a little break?” Madeline suggests.

“No,” Thomas says. “I’m fine, really. We need to get through this, okay?”

She nods. “Of course.”

“I didn’t answer my sister’s call,” he says.

“Okay,” I say.

“I don’t know if I was too wasted to pick up or if, I don’t know, I was so caught up in my own drama that I just ignored my little sister or, who knows, maybe I wanted to keep the line open in case Lacy called.” He stops to take a breath. “I don’t know. I don’t remember. I just know that her call ended up going to voice mail.”

“What did it say?” I ask.

The question seems to surprise him. “Her voice mail?”

“Yes.”

He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

I wait for him to elaborate. You wait, you sometimes get gold.

“I just heard a lot of party noise in the background.”

“On the voice mail?”

“Yes.”

“But no words?”

“Nothing I could make out. Maybe Vic meant to hang up. Maybe she didn’t realize her phone was still on.”

I mull that over and try to lay out the tracks in my mind. Victoria is at a big millennium party in New York City she helps arrange. Something happens. She reacts by calling her brother. He doesn’t answer. Then she rushes out into the street where she’s seen by the CCTV camera.

“When did you listen to the voice mail?” I ask.

“You mean play it back?”

“Yes. When did you hear this message of party noise?”

“I don’t know. Thing is, I almost never check my voice mail. It could have been days later.”

“But you can’t remember when?”

Madeline seems annoyed by this line of questioning. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m wondering how it all went down,” I say. “Like, did you hear her message and think That’s odd . Did you check your voice mail before or after the family started to get worried about Victoria? That kind of thing.”

“What difference does any of that make?” Madeline asks.

“Probably none,” I admit. “But this is how you investigate. You try to put together a timeline and see where something goes awry.” I turn back to Thomas. “Do you remember when you first listened to the voice mail?”

“I don’t.” He thinks about it a bit and adds, “But I don’t remember thinking it was a big deal, so it must have been before we were worried about her.”

“I assume you no longer have the voice mail?”

“From twenty-five years ago? No, sorry.”

“Do you have a theory on why Victoria called?”

“Seems obvious.” A tear escapes his eye and rolls down his cheek. “Something happened at the party, and she wanted a ride home.”

He stops again. Madeline whispers some words of comfort, but I don’t think he can hear them right now. I don’t have a follow-up question, so I stay silent.

After some time passes, Thomas continues: “Victoria was a teenage girl, and instead of watching her, instead of taking care of her, we were all distracted by our own stuff. I was all caught up in my Lacy drama. My mom was consumed with what was happening with my grandfather. I can make all the excuses I want—Victoria texted us, we thought she was with friends, whatever—but why weren’t we more worried when she didn’t come home?”

I shift in the chair. “What about your dad?”

“What about him?”

“You said ‘we were all distracted.’ We’ve covered your issues with Lacy. Your mom was distracted with her father’s illness. What about your dad?”

Thomas frowns at that. “Dad was busy with work, I guess. He was also helping Mom with my grandfather. If you’re trying to imply—”

“I’m not trying to imply anything,” I say. “He was home on New Year’s Eve, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see him at all?”

“No. I pretty much stayed in the home theater.”

“How about when you left to go to Lacy’s?”

“I didn’t see him, no. He may have already been on his way to Chicago by then. Why are you asking—?”

Time to switch gears. “Can I ask you something else?”

Thomas clears his throat. “Of course.”

“You’re sober now.”

“I am. Twenty-five years.”

“That would mean you quit right around the time your sister disappeared.”

“You have to hit rock bottom before you get help. We both know that, don’t we? Maybe it was melodramatic for me to declare ‘It’s my fault,’ but the hard truth is, if I had been sober, everything would have turned out differently. So I got help. I went to rehab. I joined the church. I met Madeline. We have two children. You just met our oldest. We named her Victoria—Vicki—after my sister. But odd as it sounds, it’s a little like Covid.”

“Covid?” I repeat. “How so?”

“I realize this will sound like a strange comparison, but remember how we all felt when the world first shut down for Covid? Like everything had changed forever. Like the world would never be the same—and now, just a few years later, poof, you can barely remember it. That’s kind of how it felt after Victoria came home. I don’t know if it’s blocking or just a new gratitude about life, but my parents are great, Madeline and I are great—even Victoria seems happy. I daresay—and I know how this will sound—we are all better off now. You go through something this horrible, you appreciate what matters more. That’s the thing with tragedy. It’s awful and cruel, but it’s a great teacher. You can’t put a silver lining on something so horrific, but the truth is, I don’t know where I’d be if this hadn’t happened. I’d never have met Madeline. There’d be no Vicki, no Stacy. Blessing, curse, I don’t know.”

I sit back and cross my legs. I give his words time to settle.

“Do you have a theory on what happened to your sister?” I ask.

“I did. I mean, before we met you and learned about Spain. I thought someone had kidnapped her and locked her away.”

“And now?”

“Now,” Thomas says, gripping his wife’s hand, “I worry it was something worse.”