Page 27

Zoey Gershwin met us at the front door, explaining that Imogen hadn’t come out of her room since we’d left the previous night, Nixon had slept on the couch, and Sparrow was calm and settled. Father and daughter were eating breakfast in the kitchen.

We encouraged Zoey to head out for a break. Liaison work could be taxing, and she happily complied.

I touched Jordyn’s arm before she marched into the kitchen to confront Nixon.

“I’m going to check on Imogen and see if she’s thought about her situation and wants to chat.

” I also wanted to give Aslan more time to get back to me about Clementine.

“Can you convince Sparrow to come up when she’s done eating?

I’d rather she spends time with her mother while we talk to Nixon. ”

Jordyn agreed, and I wandered upstairs, knocking on the closed bedroom door at the end of the hallway.

“Mrs. Davis? Genie? It’s Quaid Valor. Can I come in?”

A long pause followed before she granted me permission.

Imogen was not in bed. She stood at the window, watching the birds chatter and bounce along the tree branches as they feasted their fill on seeds.

The bully blue jay was back, lording over a specific feeder like he owned it and fluttering his wings at anyone who dared venture too close.

“How can I help you, Mr. Valor?”

I was used to the first question out of parents’ mouths being, Have you found my child?

Imogen’s blank stare and lack of emotion weren’t necessarily unusual, but they weren’t doing her any favors.

I had a hundred questions. I wanted to turn up the pressure and make her sweat until she told us what she knew or suspected, but Edwards’ words reverberated inside my head, reminding me to tread carefully .

“What do you know about the conflict between Jude and Nixon?”

Imogen turned from the window. She wore silk pajamas.

One hand rested on her swollen belly. Her hair had been tied in a high ponytail, so it swung, brushing her shoulders when she shook her head.

“Only what he tells me, which isn’t always much since Nixon goes out of his way lately to keep me calm.

” Said as though the notion of getting overly stressed annoyed her.

“I know there’s concern over missing money.

I know my husband has been anxious about it and that he’s concerned Jude may be responsible because of his gambling problems that often get out of hand. It can make a man desperate.”

“I imagine it can. How desperate?”

Imogen shrugged but didn’t offer a response otherwise.

“How hostile has the situation become?”

“What do you mean?”

“Have they openly fought?”

“They’ve had heated discussions, but they’re friends.

It never gets out of hand or physical. They’ll work it out.

Nixon always rescues Jude when he’s… struggling.

He’s kindhearted like that. Jude doesn’t always admit when things are bad.

They have their moments, but they’ll be okay.

Whatever the issue this time, I’m sure they’ll work it out. ”

“You understand the amount of money missing is no small sum. They’re talking about hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

Imogen’s expression conveyed surprise. She didn’t know.

“Mrs. Davis, if your husband is somehow directly or indirectly responsible for your missing son, and that’s the impression you gave me yesterday, could it have something to do with Jude and this mess?

And if so, how do I get him back? Where do I look?

What aren’t you telling me because I know there’s something I’m missing. ”

She stared for a long time before turning back to the window. “I don’t know, Mr. Valor.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I said, I don’t know.” The slap of each word, laced with anger, made me jump.

“Are you trying to protect Nixon? Yourself? Jude? Christ. Help me out here. What about Crowley? Your son , Imogen. What about your son?”

She didn’t respond and stared mournfully out the window. Movement at the doorway caught my eye, and I turned to look. Little Sparrow hit me with a beaming, toothy smile. “Hi, Detective Quaid. You came back.”

“I did.”

“Did you find Crow?”

“Not yet.” I glanced at Imogen, whose focus was on the birds. Her expression back to an unreadable mask. I wasn’t getting anywhere with her. “How about you keep your mommy company for a while? I need to talk to your daddy again.”

“About Crowley?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay.” She eyed her mother, her smile faltering until Imogen broke her spell and remembered to be a parent for a change. She waved her daughter forward and took Sparrow’s hand.

“Do you want to snuggle and read books in bed? Mommy’s tired and needs to lie down.”

Sparrow agreed, so I left the two alone.

I wanted to shake Imogen upside down and find out what she was hiding and why. Her reticence bothered me on a level I couldn’t sort out. Aslan’s words rang in my head. “Maybe you should be asking what scary secret she has that makes her too afraid to talk.”

Was she being threatened? If so, why wouldn’t she tell us? What did the note mean? How could Imogen or Nixon possibly be ruined? What information did this person have that these parents didn’t want exposed?

My phone vibrated with an incoming text. I retrieved the device from a pocket.

Aslan: I showed Clementine’s picture to Dontrel. He confirms she was definitely the woman Nixon met with on Tuesday. Taking his statement now. Talk soon xx

I sat with that information for a moment before joining Jordyn and Nixon in the kitchen.

Nixon had changed his clothes but was no less rumpled than the previous day.

A dark shadow of stubble lined his jaw, and the bags under his eyes resembled deep bruises, but the red lines in his sclera had calmed.

Fuck Edwards. I was done with Nixon’s tears and offering him sympathy. I was done playing nice and dancing around the delicate subject of their missing child. The parents had been directly threatened. The threat implied they knew more than they were saying. No more kid gloves.

Jordyn and I had spent the past thirty-some-odd hours tiptoeing around a case that pointed right back to the parents, and we’d gotten nowhere. My partner must have seen the intent in my hardened posture and expression and motioned for me to go ahead.

Nixon waited patiently on a stool at the kitchen island, gaze weary and cautious. Maybe he saw my lack of empathy too. He worried his hands, a ceramic mug of coffee growing cold beside him.

“I’m getting a warrant to review your finances, Mr. Davis.”

Nixon’s brow creased, and he blinked several times. “Um… okay. ”

“You’re not curious as to why?”

More hand twisting. “I assume it has something to do with Jude and the missing money. Did he say I took it, and I’m trying to blame him? How does this relate to Crowley’s disappearance?”

I ignored his questions. “I found your business partner in your office yesterday, rooting through your computer.”

Nixon’s nostrils flared. He flexed his fingers, holding tension between his hands, but he said nothing.

“Does that bother you?”

“Of course it does.”

“We also found Jude on surveillance video at the Soccerplex at the time of Crowley’s game on Tuesday.”

“What?” Nixon sat straighter. A vein pulsed at his temple, and his gaze flicked between Jordyn and me. “At the game? But Jude would never…” He shook his head. “What are you saying?”

“We spoke to him. Jude claims he was looking for you.”

“Me? But…”

Jordyn stepped forward. “I asked you about your meeting yesterday. The one you claimed ran late and made it impossible for you to make it home on time to take Crowley to his game on Tuesday. I explained that your secretary claimed you didn’t have a meeting and left before five.”

“And I told you she was mistaken. She’s only privy to client meetings she arranges. I arranged this one and met with the accountant downstairs in the courtyard.”

“The accountant?” Jordyn sought clarification, and I was glad because if she didn’t, I would have.

“Yes. A forensic accountant. About the missing money. I wanted advice about how to best proceed. Jude’s been unreasonable. I can’t talk to him about it anymore. All we do is fight. ”

“Mr. Davis,” I said, cutting in. “I spoke to one of the security officers at the Bay-Adelaide building where you work. It so happens he can back up your story since he remembers your meeting in the courtyard on Tuesday evening.”

“Good. See?” He glared at Jordyn with hostility. “I’m not a liar.”

I held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks. “The man also remembered who you met with. He claims it didn’t appear to be a business meeting at all and that the person with you was a young, redheaded woman.”

I paused for effect.

Nixon grew still, color rising in his cheeks.

I produced the photograph of Clementine that Costa had printed, placed it on the wooden island top, and slid it toward Nixon. “She doesn’t look like a forensic accountant to me. She looks an awful lot like the nanny you employed recently.”

Nixon stared at the picture of Clementine. He blinked, lips parted, evidently stunned by the revelation.

I didn’t give him a chance to explain.

“Your wife implied yesterday that you had the power to stop this.” I waved a hand about the room, indicating everything that was happening.

“She implied you were responsible for Crowley’s disappearance.

That you might even know where he was. In fact, we have a ransom note that suggests our perpetrator has information that could potentially ruin you. ”

I tapped the photograph of Clementine. “Is this it?”

The dam overflowed. Nixon made no move to stop the tears streaming down his face as he shook his head repeatedly. The horror of my accusation showed plainly on his face. “It’s not what you think. ”

“For the record, Nixon. I don’t think you personally or intentionally did anything to your son, but I do believe your actions—or secrets—” I tapped the picture again—“could have been the catalyst.”

“I was not having an affair with our nanny. Are you kidding me? I adore my wife. I’ve loved her since I was old enough to understand love. She’s the only woman I’ve ever been with or wanted or need. I told you that.”

“So her finding out about an affair could utterly destroy your marriage, right?”

“There’s nothing to find out. There’s no affair.

” He slammed a fist on the counter. “I told Genie it was a meeting with a forensic accountant because she’s been sensitive lately.

I didn’t want to upset her. I couldn’t very well tell you it was with Clementine, or she’d wonder why I’d lied to her. It would have looked suspicious.”

“It does look suspicious. Why did Imogen fire your nanny?”

“I don’t know. She claims she didn’t want help anymore.”

“Sounds like a silly reason, considering her circumstances.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Who knew about Clementine?”

“Knew what?”

“Did Jude know? Is that his leverage? You drop the charges against him, and he won’t reveal your affair? The boy was taken to ensure you cooperated?”

“There are no charges, and there is no affair.”

“I’m not convinced a twenty-year-old student who lives with her parents could pull this off, but we’ll bring her in for questioning today. If you don’t want to tell us the truth, we can get it from her.”

“What are you talking about? What truth? I’m telling you the truth.”

“Where is your son, Nixon. ”

“I don’t know.” He blubbered and sobbed.

“Why are you being like this? I met with Clementine because my wife fired her. She was upset. I’d promised her a job for the summer, and I met with her to tell her I would try to convince Genie to change her mind.

I offered her compensation for lost hours.

She refused to take it. We had coffee, for fuck’s sake. That’s it. Is that a crime?”

The tension in the room sizzled until a meek voice asked, “Daddy, why are you shouting at Detective Quaid? He’s my friend.”

Nixon gave me a look that translated everything he wanted to say but couldn’t.

How dare I. How dare I accuse him. How dare I do this in his house with his child present.

How dare I make friends with his daughter when I should be locating his missing son.

How dare I suggest an affair or that he was involved in Crowley’s kidnapping.

“Go do your job.” Nixon’s voice was low and threatening. He stared for an extra beat before turning to his daughter and opening his arms. “Come here, baby girl.”

Sparrow crawled onto his lap, and Nixon hugged and kissed her head, telling her Daddy was fine. He wasn’t shouting. He wasn’t angry. Everything was going to be okay.

Jordyn found juice in the refrigerator and poured her a glass.

Sparrow drank it down, giving herself a purple mustache.

After the girl had finished her drink and had another cuddle in her father’s arms, I spoke. “We have a few more questions, Mr. Davis.”

I thought he would tell us to fuck off, but instead, he adjusted his daughter on his lap. “Sweetie,” he said to her, “How about you go back upstairs and stay with Mommy for a bit longer? Daddy is still talking to the police about Crow, but when I’m done, maybe we can color, okay?”

“But Mommy’s gone.”

“What? ”

“She left.”

“Left?” I stepped forward, my surprise mirroring Nixon’s.

“W-what do you mean, sweetie?” her dad asked.

“She said she had to get out of here, and she left.”

The incredulity took a second to sink in. When it did, Jordyn and I sprinted from the kitchen and raced upstairs, but the bedroom was empty. Imogen’s silk pajamas lay discarded on her unmade bed.

We split up and searched the entire house, calling Imogen’s name. It was futile. We didn’t find her.

We discovered Nixon peering out the window in the front room with Sparrow on his hip. “Her car is gone, Detective. Sparrow’s right. She left.”