Page 28

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

I go back to the hospital under one condition—that the doctors allow my students to visit. The hospital rules are only four visitors at a time, so Polly, Gary, Lenny, and Debbie are allowed in the room. The rest, I’m told, are waiting in the lobby, though the staff strongly requested (demanded?) that Raymond wait outside.

“They want us to rotate,” Gary says. “So everyone can see you.”

“I’m not sure I’m up for that,” I say.

Polly steps forward. “We all chipped in and got you this.”

She hands me a huge Stanley-brand mug with a straw sticking out of the top. On the side it reads:

WORLD’S BEST TEACHER

“That’s really nice,” I say. “Thank you.”

Debbie says, “Read the other side.”

“What?”

She turns the cup around. I see one word there:

NORBURY

I can’t help but smile. Norbury is mentioned in one of my favorite Sherlock Holmes tales, “The Adventure of the Yellow Face.” What made this story so memorable—what I taught my class—is that Sherlock Holmes messed up in his deductions here. The point: Even Sherlock is not infallible. None of us is. And at the end of this sentimental and surprisingly modern story about mixed marriages, after a shaken Holmes and Watson return to Baker Street, Sherlock tells his dearest friend:

“Watson, if it should ever strike you that I am getting a little overconfident in my powers, or giving less pains to a case than it deserves, kindly whisper ‘Norbury’ in my ear, and I shall be infinitely obliged to you.”

“Norbury,” Gary says.

“Norbury,” Polly adds.

I hold up my hand before Lenny says it. “Yeah, okay, I get it.”

“So now what?” Lenny asks. “Are we done with this case?”

I notice that Polly already has her laptop out. She sets it on that food table tray with the PowerPoint up.

“I guess not.” I look up at their expectant faces. “What have you got?”

“We are working on various prongs involving both cases you asked us about. For the sake of simplicity, we will call one case the Victoria Belmond Case and the other the Tad Grayson Case.”

“I wanted us to call it the Nicole Brett Case,” Lenny says. “Because that way we are naming the cases for the victims, not the perps.”

“Except,” Polly says, “there may be two victims now. Nicole Brett and—”

“Calling it the Tad Grayson Case is fine,” I say. “Let’s not get mired in semantics. What do you want to show me?”

“We are still tracking down the man who was following your wife, the one you refer to as Scraggly Dude. We have a theory now, based on what you told us, and have engaged Detective Marty McGreggor in helping us with this.”

“My old partner?”

“Former,” Polly says in her teacher voice. “Not old.”

I bit back the sigh. “How did you meet Marty?”

“Downstairs that day you were shot. He was visiting too. We were in the lobby.”

“Good-looking guy,” Lenny says.

“You guys came the day I was shot?”

“Of course.”

I look at them. “I should be touched,” I say, “but oddly, I’m not.”

Gary spreads his hands. “None of us has much of a life, so…”

“Speak for yourself,” Polly snaps but she’s smiling as she does. She clears her throat and puts on the business voice. “We are coordinating with Jennifer Schultz and her Radiant Allure agency database. But nothing so far. Our theory right now is that the woman Victoria Belmond used the agency as a cover story, but you never know.”

That theory is wrong, but I let it go for now. “Okay,” I say.

“Get to it,” Gary says with a sigh. “This is what she does. She draws everything out like she’s the final chapter of an Agatha Christie novel.”

“I do not,” Polly says. “Everything is in context.”

“Just tell him already.”

“Fine.” Polly sighs. “We tried to create a list of Victoria Belmond’s high school friends who might have been at the party. We got six names from the FBI files via Detective Marty McGreggor. None of them would talk to us. But we were able to get school records and yearbooks. We cross-checked through them to see possible attendees. For example, Victoria Belmond was in the French club and on the field hockey team. So anybody who was on both of those were likely to have been at the New Year’s Eve party. Using a pretty simple software program, we could figure out who would have been Victoria’s close friends and likely to have gone to that party.”

They all look at me.

“Okay.”

“We also—I don’t know how to put this or even why we did this. It was Debbie’s idea. But we also put into the equation your cases from your time on the police force.”

I frown. “My cases?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Debbie says, “Because you’re linked into this, Kierce.”

I look over at her.

“Victoria Belmond vanishes,” Debbie says. “You’re the only one who sees her in eleven years.”

“We all figured it would go nowhere,” Gary adds.

“Even me, to be honest,” Debbie says.

The hospital room is far too warm and clammy, but I still feel the chill. “So?”

“So the last case before you left the force was the murder at Farnwood, an estate owned by the Burkett family.”

“Right.”

And even before Polly says it, I flash back to my conversation with Thomas Belmond, to what he told me about driving his sister to that New Year’s Eve party.

“I drove Vic to that party. She and one of her friends—Caroline, I think…”

Caroline…

Polly is nodding as though she can read my mind. “Victoria Belmond’s best friend in high school,” she says, “was Caroline Burkett.”

I will skip the part where my doctors remind me that I had promised not to leave the hospital again if they gave me permission to go to Victoria Belmond’s funeral.

Marty rushes me to Farnwood, the uber-opulent Burkett estate made notorious by the murder that the entire world witnessed. There is an old man at the gate. He scowls at us, but he hits the button. The gate creaks open so slowly it’s hard to see it move with the naked eye. We head up the drive, past a tennis court, past a soccer pitch. The house itself is a nineteenth-century English country home with Gothic elements like gargoyles and mullioned windows. It is built with Elizabethan red brick, perfectly symmetrical with turreted Tudor-style wings.

Standing there, dead center as though working the symmetrical lines, is the formidable figure of Judith Burkett. She is nearly eighty, but she still commands your attention. Her posture is ramrod pure, her head high. You can sense her elegance and charisma because she has both in droves, but I know that it’s all in the pursuit of evil. When we stop, she moves toward the car as though she is on a runway. She smiles at me. The glamour is still there. Her eyes are still steely.

“Mr. Kierce,” she says, stressing the word mister because last time we met, she knew me as Detective , and she undeniably wants to rub my downfall in my face. “Delighted to see you again.”

She holds out her hand, and I hesitantly shake it. She senses my discomfort, so she tightens her grip and makes me be the one to pull away. I want to say something or do something, including punching an old woman in the face, but I need information from her.

Marty gets out of the car too. He was the one who set up this meeting. He seemed surprised that Judith Burkett agreed to see me. I was not. Some people avoid confrontation. Some relish it. I’d figured that she wouldn’t be able to resist.

Judith Burkett smiles at Marty and says, “Detective McGreggor, is it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ma’am . I want to slap him.

“I’d like you to wait down by the gate, please.”

She dismisses Marty with a nod and gestures for me to follow her. We head inside the foyer. You expect the décor to be antique-y, and while it is lavish enough to reflect the family’s wealth and former status, there are a lot of modern touches in the carpeting and upholstery. We stop in front of the enormous family portrait—Judith, her husband Joseph, and their four children—Andrew, Joe, Caroline, and Neil. Everyone is looking forward except for Andrew because when the painting was created, he was already dead. Now Joseph Senior is dead. Joe Junior too is dead. Shot in Central Park. Judith stops and stares up at the portrait and waits for me to speak.

“I would like to talk to Caroline,” I say.

“Caroline,” she replies, “isn’t here.”

“When will she be home?”

Still staring at the portrait, Judith smiles. “I can’t say for sure, I’m afraid. But not soon.” She finally turns away from the portrait. “I’m told you want information on Victoria Belmond. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“Yes.”

“Such a tragedy. The poor girl survives such a long, cruel ordeal only to get caught in street fire meant for someone else.” She tsk-tsks. “Our families used to be very close. Did you know that?”

“I knew Caroline and Victoria were friends.”

“Best friends,” Judith adds.

She smiles again. It kills me that so many died or were made sick to pay for this grand house and this tacky portrait—that this odious woman is allowed to enjoy these lavish grounds and breathe this fine air and smile like she is doing right now.

But I hold my tongue. “That’s why I’d like to talk to Caroline,” I say instead.

“I don’t really understand,” Judith says with an exaggerated tilt of her head. “What could Caroline tell you about Victoria’s death? Wasn’t the shooter aiming for you?”

“We don’t know for sure.”

“But surely you can’t think someone wanted to kill Victoria.”

“Someone kidnapped her. Someone held her for eleven years. We are digging into that too.”

“And you think that led to her death?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s possible. Either way, she should have justice for what was done to her.”

“After her death?” Judith playfully arches an eyebrow. “Do you think the kidnapper matters to the dead?”

“I’m not deep enough for such meanderings,” I say, “but at worst, it could stop someone from doing it again.”

“That’s true, I suppose.”

“The night Victoria disappeared,” I say, trying to get us back on track, “there was a New Millennium party at McCabe’s Pub.”

“I’m well aware.”

“And Caroline was there.”

“Of course. In fact, Caroline cohosted with Victoria.”

“Where is Caroline?” I ask again.

She spins back toward the portrait. Now her eyes land on her only daughter. “Are you familiar with the Solemani Recovery Center?”

I am. It’s a very high-end, exclusive rehab center. “That’s where she is?”

Judith nods. “I’ll inform them of your visit, so they can”—she pauses as though thinking of the right word—“prepare Caroline. Will tomorrow morning work for you?”

“Any chance I could see her today?”

A tight smile now. “I’m afraid not, no.”

“Is Caroline okay?”

Judith bites down on her lower lip. “I’m not sure she is ready for visitors, but if it will help the Belmonds, we are both more than willing to cooperate.”

“I appreciate that,” I say, spitting nails.

We stand there. She is taller and so moves closer, but I’m used to that. She can’t intimidate me that way.

“I’ll be on my way,” I say.

“Did you know that I used to see Talia Belmond?” Judith says to me, and there is something teasing in her voice. “Professionally speaking, I mean.”

I didn’t expect that. “You were Talia’s therapist?”

“Her doctor, yes. After her daughter vanished, well, you can imagine. I can’t say very much about our sessions, of course.”

“But she started seeing you after Victoria disappeared? Talia Belmond, I mean.”

“Yes. She had severe trouble dealing with the trauma”—Judith flashes her razor-sharp smile at me—“and of course, the guilt.”

She waits for me to prompt her. I play my part.

“The guilt,” I say.

“Yes.”

“Because she didn’t report her daughter was missing right away,” I say. “Because she was away that night.”

“Not just away,” Judith says. The teasing is back. She’s enjoying this. Part of me wants to strangle her, but most of me is just weary of the injustice of it all.

I give the expected line as though I’ve overrehearsed it. “What do you mean, not just away?”

Judith is suddenly coy. “I really shouldn’t say more. Patient-client confidentiality.”

“Talia Belmond was in Chicago that night.”

“That’s true, yes.”

“Her father was dying.”

“Also true.”

“Then?”

“The Belmonds are new money. You probably know that. When they first became wealthy, my husband and I welcomed them into our circle. Many did not. We got Talia on the board of the philharmonic. Made sure that she and Archie were allowed into the right clubs. I hosted them in this very house. Our children became close. Thomas used to play soccer on that pitch with Andrew and Joe. Victoria and Caroline were inseparable. When Victoria vanished, Caroline too suffered severe trauma. You can imagine. Her best friend walks out of a party they’re cohosting—and never returns. And when Talia Belmond was at her lowest, when she needed professional help to deal with her daughter’s kidnapping, I was there for her—first as her friend, and then as her doctor.”

She turns again and stares at that damn painting.

“And yet when we Burketts had our troubles, when the accusations around my family started to swirl, Talia Belmond never reached out to me. Never called. Never sent a note to see how we were doing. So do I owe Talia Belmond loyalty? I don’t think so.”

I wait. She is making the argument for me. It’s a stupid, nonsensical argument, but so be it. There is no reason to push when she was already doing all the pushing.

“Before I say anything else, I have a question for you, Mr. Kierce.”

“Okay.”

“Have you seen my granddaughter?”

She is talking about Lilly. Lilly is four years old now.

“No,” I say.

This is a lie.

I see Lilly a lot. I’m still in her life—and always will be if it’s up to me. I have made a vow to protect Lilly from monsters.

Monsters like her grandmother.

I see Judith Burkett’s eyes well up. “Is that the truth?” she asks. “You haven’t seen Lilly?”

I have no qualms about lying to her. “I haven’t seen her, no.”

She turns and studies my face. I don’t know whether she sees the lie or not. I don’t really care one way or the other.

“She was meeting a man,” Judith Burkett says. “In Chicago.”

I feel a rushing in my head. I know what she means. I understand the implication. But I still mutter, almost against my will: “What?”

“Talia Belmond,” Judith says, turning back to the portrait. “She wasn’t just going to Chicago to see her sick father. Talia was meeting a man. That’s why she wasn’t focused on their daughter. And that’s why she still blames herself for what happened that night to Victoria.”