“Where do you want to start?” Marcus asked.
“I’ll take the desk in the den. Why don’t you take the bedroom and closets. If he’s our guy, I think he’d have kept something as a memento. And if he’s Lisa’s firebug . . . well most arsonists like the paraphernalia of firemen.”
Marcus headed toward the back of the house.
Quinn found the overhead light in the den had burned out and the lightbulb had not been replaced. He turned on the side table lamp.
The desk was a clutter of mail, open magazines, and jumbled newspapers; two of the drawers had caught on crumpled pages and not closed all the way.
Quinn tugged out the vinyl black cover he spotted under what appeared to be an insurance policy and found it was a month-at-a-glance calendar. It fell open at the current month. Quinn was relieved to see that Christopher apparently used it. The squares were filled with scrawled notes and times. He turned back several pages looking through the months. They’d be able to get a good idea from this who they needed to talk with to establish Christopher’s whereabouts. He checked January and found it similarly marked up. Odds were good there would be a calendar from the previous year around here somewhere.
He pulled out the chair and tugged open the first drawer on the left. He found a thick brown book with its cover falling apart, held together by three rubber bands. Holding it together, he slipped off the rubber bands. It was a disorganized address book, stuffed with business cards and torn off scraps of paper with jotted phone numbers.
“Quinn.”
Quinn slipped the rubber bands back in place and set the address book and calendar to one side to take with him later. He headed back through the house to join Marcus. “Find something already?”
Marcus nodded to the dresser on the far side of the room.
Quinn saw the pictures and walked forward as his jaw tightened, shocked.
Lisa paged through the printouts the office manger had run for her, looking for jobs Christopher had worked near where Vera had lived.
Walter tapped on the door. “Lisa, I’ve got a lead on where Christopher is, but he may not be there for long. Bring the printouts and let’s drive over and get the marshals. I’d like this situation cleared up and settled. Customers are finding it rather disconcerting to see all the cop cars around.”
She was surprised at Walter’s suggestion but also relieved. They needed to find Christopher. She closed the printout and picked it and her notebook up. “I know it’s troubling Walter, but it’s necessary.”
“I wish you’d just tell me what you think he did. I know Christopher. He doesn’t always think before he acts, but that makes him a pain to have around, not a criminal.”
Being left in the dark had to be frustrating. “It may not be that serious once we talk to him. You really think you have an idea where he is?”
“I tracked down one of his more questionable friends. Apparently there’s a poker game going on this afternoon.” Walter held the office door for her, and they stepped out into the bright sunlight. “We’ll take the truck. Your brother said they were going over to Christopher’s house.”
She grabbed the door frame and pulled herself up into the truck, relieved that her back no longer barked with every move she made. The dust stirred behind them as Walter drove around the office building to the back road.
“Walter, have you ever been to Montana?” She knew the answer but wanted to hear it from him.
If he was surprised by the question, he still answered it. “A couple times over the years. We’ve got distant relatives out there.”
“You and Christopher once drove a horse back for Grant Danford.”
“Grant tell you that? We made a couple trips like that, for Grant and for his neighbor Bob Nelson. Must be twenty years ago now. What’s that got to do with all this?”
Lisa took a chance and dug out the picture from her portfolio. “Do you remember ever having met this girl?”
He reached over and took the wallet-sized photo. His face went tight. “Where’d you get this?”
“You know her?”
“Sure. Christopher’s got her picture on his dresser mirror.”
Quinn reminded himself to breathe. There were several pictures of Amy, a couple of them taken of Christopher and Amy together. The pictures were in a small cluster near the corner of the dresser mirror, held in place by yellowing tape. “He kept the pictures of his victim.”
“Quinn.”
“Why else do you have twenty-year-old pictures taped to your dresser?” Quinn stepped back, clenching his fists to stop from touching the pictures. “He was involved in Amy’s disappearance. He shot my father in the back.”
“Maybe,” Marcus said quietly.
Twenty years of looking had come down to a small collection of pictures in a run-down house in a suburb of Chicago. Rather than relief, there was intense sadness. This wasn’t the vindication and justice he had sought; it was just the truth. “Where’s Lisa? She needs to see this.”
“At the nursery office. She was going to ask Walter about getting the customer records for the jobs Christopher worked, to see if he can be placed in the area where the women disappeared.”
“It’s why my brother drinks.”
Walter’s hands had tightened on the steering wheel. Lisa slid the photo back into her portfolio. “What do you mean?”
His expression was grim. “He was in love with her. He never got over the fact she dumped him.”
“When did they meet?”
“I don’t know all the details. She was here on vacation or something like that. I remember Christopher talking about her all the time. He made a big deal about getting a chance to see her when we went out to Montana to pick up a horse for Grant.”
“Walter, she disappeared.”
“What?”
“Twenty years ago, from her parents’ ranch outside Justice, Montana.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No.”
“Christopher saw Amy that last day when we were out in Montana. We drove back home, and he never heard from her again. He started drinking heavily after that trip.” Walter looked over at her, accusingly. “You’re looking at Christopher, you think he’s involved.”
“There are some questions that need answers.”
“He had nothing to do with it.”
Lisa set her portfolio on the seat beside her, then turned to glance back at the Y in the road they had passed. “Walter, doesn’t that lead around to Christopher’s house?”
“Yes. But that road is blocked with sod pallets waiting to be picked up. We’ll have to go around the other way.”
The screen door banged shut as Marcus stepped out of the office. “Quinn, she’s not here.”
Quinn had pulled up outside the office, stayed in the car, his arm resting out the open driver’s window, expecting Lisa to join them. “What do you mean?”
“Terri, the office manager, says Walter and Lisa were heading over to see us; they took one of the nursery pickup trucks.”
That puzzled Quinn. “We should have passed them.”
“Lisa may have wanted to see the cleared lot of Egan’s home. They would have come around the orchard from the other direction.”
“Let’s go find them.”
Marcus got back into the car.
Quinn drove around the greenhouses and the front of the orchard to where Egan’s house had stood.
There was no sign of a Nakomi Nurseries’ truck at the cleared lot. Quinn pulled in behind one of the squad cars to see if Lisa and Walter had been by.
The officer leading the group of men searching the site came over to greet them. “I was just getting ready to call you. We’ve found something.”
Quinn got out of the car, waited for Marcus to join him, and they walked with the officer around the remaining foundation of the house. A small group of officers had assembled near the east end of what had been the garden. Someone had recently tilled under the plants and weeds, leaving the dirt eve
nly broken.
“There was a patch of the garden you could see had been circled around rather than tilled over. We wondered why.”
It was a four-by-three-foot square of packed ground one of the officers had dug into with a shovel. He now stood a few feet away with the other officers.
Quinn accepted the collapsible shovel, carried as part of the standard equipment in the squad car trunks, and walked over to the hole.
It was the end of a cardboard box, half collapsed under the force of the shovel, less than a foot beneath the surface of the ground. Quinn pushed back more of the dirt. He used the shovel to lift back the lid, then turned his head away at the rush of an awful smell. His eyes watering, he looked at what had been found: small bits of fur still present, scorched.
A cat. Or what was left of one.
There had been a second cat caught in the fire? Why hadn’t Walter said as much? He had obviously buried this one too. Quinn looked closer at the cat and frowned. This one obviously had a broken back, the front and back feet were twisted in the wrong directions.
Was this the one that had been in the bedroom, the one possibly given a sleeping pill? Sleeping under the sedation, still managing to wake to the fire, heading toward the door scared . . . and getting viciously kicked so it wouldn’t get away.
Even if there had been no sleeping pill, this cat had obviously met a more serious fate a few minutes before the fire burned it to death.
Someone had been in the house when the fire got underway. It hadn’t been an accident, a suicide . . . it had indeed been a murder.
“Get a small black body bag, take this in.”
“You’re serious?”
He gave the officer a sympathetic look; the cardboard box was not exactly in any condition to be picked up. “You’ll understand why later. Just do it.”
“You’ve got it wrong.”
Lisa braced one hand on the dashboard. The truck was beginning to bounce around; Walter was going too fast for the dirt road. Seeing the tension in his face, hearing it in his voice, she chose not to comment on his driving. “How do we have it wrong?”
“Christopher didn’t have anything to do with Amy’s disappearance. Grant did.”
Lisa felt a shiver of warning inside at the way the conversation was changing. “What do you mean?”
Walter’s gaze didn’t leave the road. “Grant killed Amy.”
“You know this for sure?”
He nodded.
“How do you know?” Lisa whispered, watching him.
“I buried her. Or more accurately, hid her.” The truck rocked as he abruptly changed roads. “Grant accused Christopher of the crime, I stupidly believed him, and I hid her body; it was the last day before we left Montana.”
“Why didn’t you tell someone?”
“I had disbelieved my brother. If I had bothered to check out Christopher’s story before I believed Grant’s accusation, I would have known Christopher couldn’t have done it. Instead I assumed . . . and I didn’t ask those questions until it was too late.”
And then she understood and felt incredible dread. “Did you have reason to believe Christopher could have done it?” She hesitated but had to ask. “Had he done it before?”
Quinn turned the ignition key. “Marcus, Walter had to suspect the fire was intentionally set when he found that cat.”
“He knows his brother is guilty, is trying to protect him.”
“He has to know about Amy too—those pictures.”
“You’d think so.”
Quinn pulled back onto the road, speeding. “Lisa’s with Walter.”
Marcus was already reaching for the radio to check in with the officer watching Christopher’s home. Lisa had not been there.
Quinn frowned. “I don’t like this. She was at the office with him, left to join us, but she didn’t arrive at Christopher’s home or here at Egan’s. Where would they go?”
“Let’s check the orchard.”
Quinn took that turn in the road while Marcus put out word for the other officers to systematically search the nursery grounds.
“Walter, take me back.” He had just pulled out of the nursery back road onto the interstate. “We need to talk to Marcus and Quinn. It won’t do you any good to warn Christopher. They’ll still track him down and find him.”
“I was sorry about your house, the pets. I liked the animals, especially the parrot.”
“Walter.” She put steel into her voice. “Stop this truck.”
“You know, I should have believed him. It wasn’t like the situation I walked into wasn’t suspicious. Christopher and Amy had been seeing each other practically every day during our five-day visit, although she made Chris keep it quiet. She had another boyfriend from school, you know, and we were leaving as soon as Grant settled on which horse he would buy.”
Walter pulled around traffic into the fast lane, heading south.
“When I walked into the bunkhouse, saw her, then found Grant suddenly behind me in the doorway . . . Grant laughed. I should have known then not to believe him. He was laughing about what was going to happen to Christopher.”
“So you protected your brother?”
“Nothing new there. I’d been doing it for years. He was always sneaking away—gambling, partying. If my uncle had realized that . . . ” Walter shook his head. “Christopher would have been disinherited eventually. Egan was always talking about doing it, these last few years it was a fairly constant refrain. I’m relieved that he died before he could do it.”
“Walter, where are we going?”
“She’s not answering her pager.”
“Do we know for sure she’s with Walter?”
“She’s not on the nursery grounds.”
“She wouldn’t leave on her own without telling us.”
“I know. Let’s get the truck license plate. We need an APB out.” Quinn slammed the car door. “She’s got a habit of getting into trouble . . . but this time we let her walk right into it.”
Twenty-five
“Walter, put that down. This is crazy.” Christopher had been drinking, he was showing his temper, and he was honestly confused by what was happening. So was Lisa. Petrified was the right word. The gun Walter held was ancient, a fact that worried her more than comforted. A gun not well-maintained had a habit of exploding when fired. She’d not only end up shot, she’d also probably get blinded by the flash burns.
“They know you started the fires,” Walter said.
“What? I didn’t set any fires.”
“You left the note on Lisa’s patio.”
Christopher flushed. “Fine. Guilty. But what has that got to do with this?”
“You’ve got to leave town now, before they catch up with you.”
Kate would have known what to do, would have already defused this situation. Lisa tried to intervene. “Walter—”
“Shut up. Christopher deserves a chance to get out of town. And you’re going to help ensure he gets it.”
“A chance because of what?” Christopher protested.
“You were following them.”
“Because you told me to! You said they knew about the cash Grant paid me.”
“They know you killed Egan.”
“Oh, come on, Walter. You know I didn’t. I had no reason to.”
“He was going to disinherit you.”
“Well, he was effectively going to disinherit you too by selling the nursery to pay for Aunt Laura’s long-term care. And I’m not the one who considers the nursery his life.”
“He wasn’t going to sell the business.”
“I’m not arguing with you, Walter. You just might want to rethink your assumptions,” he placated. “You’ve been wrong about me before. You’re wrong this time.”
“Why did you leave the note about the hummingbirds? And the pretzels?” Lisa risked asking.
Christopher shot her a glance, looking relieved. “I was bored, okay? You and that marshal spent half the day in Knolls Park while
I killed time trailing you, then sitting in my hot car watching you eat lunch. It didn’t take more than a couple questions at the local bar to figure out why you were poking around that area by the pond. The note I left was one of the tamer ones I invented that afternoon. I was just twisting your tail, poking fun at your job, nothing more.”
“And the phone call?”
“What phone call?”
“You called that Sunday morning when I found the note.”
“Honey, thank you for the compliment, but I was drunk that morning. I dumped the tree, then I went to curse up a blue streak at the local bar before I dealt with the mess. I never called you.”
Lisa understood the frustration that spoke of honesty. She believed him, but it left a quandary. Who had called? It surely hadn’t been a wrong number? “Did you ever date Rita Beck?”
His startled look told her more than he realized. “What is this, memory lane?” Christopher had reason to kill Rita. He’d been dating her before she started going out with Grant.
“They’re looking for you, Christopher. Come on, we’re leaving,” Walter insisted.
“And go where? I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Walter raised the gun. “Get out the keys to your car. You’re driving.”
They had set up a command post in the nursery office, taking over the building to leverage the phones and the fax. Jack and Stephen were helping with their invaluable knowledge of the area roads, the fire department districts not just familiar to them but memorized. As Quinn argued on the phone with the state tollway officer, Marcus opened the door. “They found the truck.”
Quinn hung up the phone midsentence. “Where?”
“Outside a bar in Waukegan. Cops are canvassing the area now. Let’s go.”
Quinn circled the counter. “Jerry, call the regional office and get us those additional resources. I don’t care if you have to threaten murder, I need every available marshal out here now. Jack, Stephen—come with us.” He followed Marcus outside. “Christopher?”