Miss Brewster’s small smile faded. ‘She worries about you, you know.’
Once again, he blinked. ‘About me? Why?’
Sadness filled her expressive eyes. ‘You should talk to her, Mr Dawson.’
Dread felt like a sixteen-ton weight on his chest, and he dragged in a harsh breath. ‘You’re not helping, Miss Brewster.’ He could see her choosing her words carefully. ‘You are scaring me. Just spit it out. Please.’
She sighed. ‘All right. Julie sees more than you know. She knows you’re worried about Daisy.’
‘She told you about Daisy?’
A nod. ‘She loves her sisters very much. She told me about Taylor, who is apparently a cross between Wonder Woman and Annie Oakley.’
That made him smile a little. ‘That’s accurate.’
But Miss Brewster did not smile. ‘She told me about Carrie. She misses her.’
Frederick felt the blood drain from his face and the hand on his tightened.
‘She knows you feel guilty that Daisy drank too much,’ she continued, ‘and that you sent her to “camp”. She knows you had some mini-strokes last year. She’s not sure if you’re telling her the truth when you say that you’re okay.’
He felt like he’d been shot. Multiple times. ‘I . . . didn’t know that she knew.’
‘Like I said, she seems to absorb more than you think. She doesn’t want to worry you any more than you already are. But she wants more from her life than she has at the moment. She knows you’ve made sacrifices for your girls – all of them, including her. She doesn’t want you to think she’s not grateful, because she is. She’s worried you’ll think she doesn’t love you, but she does.’
He stared, the deluge of information smacking hard against the wall of his brain. ‘How long did you talk to her?’
‘About an hour. She sounded eager for someone to talk to. Her caregiver has an addiction to The View and won’t allow Julie to bother her when the show is on.’
He gaped at her. ‘The caregiver came recommended.’
Miss Brewster’s smile was gentle. ‘I’m sure she did. And how you deal with that is your business. I can recommend some other agencies, though. If you’d like.’
He nodded, even though a small corner of his mind remained suspicious. It would be an excellent way for her to get more information. Although it appeared that she’d already harvested plenty. She knew his secrets. Not all of them, for sure, but enough.
‘Or not,’ she added, as if sensing his suspicion. She gave his hand an encouraging stroke before pulling hers away. ‘I won’t keep you any longer.’
He shook his head hard, trying to clear it. ‘Oh, right. Of course. I was about to walk you to your car.’ He opened the backstage door. ‘After you.’
Baltimore, Maryland,
Monday 13 June, 10.55 A.M.
Gwyn ended the call with a mix of satisfaction and frustration. ‘I got an appointment with Angie’s salon.’
Phil turned from the front seat of Jamie’s van. ‘What time?’
She made a face. ‘Not until tomorrow at five thirty. She’s penciling me in.’
Phil’s eyes twinkled. ‘I was impressed. I would have given you an appointment for sure. And maybe even a trousseau.’
Gwyn’s cheeks heated. She’d been hesitant to use the elopement ploy with Thorne sitting beside her. It seemed . . . cruel. But they needed to get to the bottom of this tangled mess, so she would do what she needed to do. ‘I wasn’t sure if she was going to buy my story, but I guess she’s a bit of a romantic. Elopement is always good for a fashion emergency. That way I’ll have her just style it in an up-do without taking scissors to me.’
Thorne narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Don’t let her dare touch your hair with scissors. It’s perfect the way it is.’
Gwyn’s heart did a little dance inside her chest at the compliment, but also at the fierce way he was staring at her. She wondered if that look had always been there and she simply hadn’t noticed. It did wonders for her ego, that was for damn sure. ‘I won’t. It’s taken me four years to get it this long again.’ Evan had cut it short because he knew she loved her hair. But then she cursed her words when a shadow passed over Thorne’s face.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘I didn’t think.’
‘It’s all right, Thorne,’ she assured him. ‘We can’t keep walking on eggshells about it. Evan did . . .’
Things to me. Terrible things. And I can’t go there. Not today. And never with Thorne. She’d told the story in counseling. That would have to be enough. Chopping off her hair was the least of the things he’d done.
She exhaled, then drew in another breath. ‘I’m learning to move on, to not let it control my every decision. Honestly, his cutting my hair seems trivial compared to all the things he did to other people.’ And to me.
‘But it was a reminder whenever you looked into a mirror,’ Phil said gently.
Gwyn shrugged uncomfortably. Her reflection hadn’t really mattered. She hadn’t looked in a mirror for months afterward. ‘Yeah, well, it grew back.’
Jamie glanced at her in the rear-view mirror. ‘Who is Amber Kelly?’
It was the name under which she’d made the salon appointment. ‘My alter ego. Amber Kelly was my stage name when I was with the circus. I was a tween when Saved by the Bell was in its first run. I was a fan.’
‘I thought that might have been the case,’ Phil said with a knowing nod.
Jamie frowned. ‘I’m not seeing the connection.’
‘Because you never taught middle school or high school,’ Phil said with an indulgent smile for Gwyn. ‘Tiffani Amber Thiessen played Kelly Kapowski. She was the main character on the show. Definitely the good-girl overachiever. Kelly was the most popular girl in the school.’
‘I wanted to be her so badly,’ Gwyn confessed. ‘I copied her hairstyle and everything.’
‘Why?’ Phil asked.
‘She had it all. Looks, good grades, lots of friends. She was the head cheerleader and everyone loved her.’ And don’t I sound pathetic? She shrugged. ‘It was pure escapism.’
‘And then you actually joined the circus?’ Jamie asked. ‘I always thought that was just your stage story.’
‘Yes, I was the kid who ran away to join the circus,’ she said with a self-deprecating laugh. ‘Good times. So we need to be in Bethesda at five thirty tomorrow. What’s next?’
Thorne shot her a curious look at her topic change, but didn’t press her to share more. Neither did the men up front, for which she was grateful. Thorne knew part of her circus story, but not all. And certainly not the painful parts. She’d been far too raw to share them when they’d first met. And now she was far too vulnerable. So those stories would stay locked in the vault until she was ready to bring them out.
‘We’re almost at the home of Brent Kiley, one of the EMTs who brought Richard into the ER,’ Jamie said.
‘Where did you get his address?’ Thorne asked.
‘From Anne.’ Jamie glanced at them in the mirror again. ‘I gave her the names of anyone we hadn’t yet located. She’s been working on addresses all morning.’
‘Anne’s at our office?’ Thorne asked sharply. ‘All alone? She might not be safe. And there have to be a million reporters swarming the area.’
‘More like four million,’ Jamie said grimly. ‘And no, she’s not at the office. Frederick had already told everyone on the payroll to stay home today. Anne can access all the search websites we use from wherever she is. She uses a proxy program, so nothing she does can be traced to her. But she’s . . . nervous about her job. Understandably.’
That didn’t surprise Gwyn. The firm’s receptionist was young and rather timid. Her boss being accused of murder wasn’t something she’d process easily.
Thorne tensed. ‘Did you tell her that she shouldn’t be? That I didn
’t do it?’
‘Of course I did,’ Jamie chided gently. ‘She doesn’t know you as well as we do.’
Thorne snorted. ‘She’s worked for me for a year.’
‘And I’ve known you for nineteen.’ Jamie sighed. ‘Locating addresses will keep her busy. Give her less time to worry. It’s a win-win.’
‘I’m surprised she didn’t have them all in her head already,’ Gwyn said dryly. The young woman was organized to a fault. She’d overhauled the firm’s filing system in her first week and knew where everything was located. She also remembered everyone’s birthday, at both the firm and Sheidalin, making sure Thorne sent at least a card to everyone.
‘Anne’s good, but not quite that good. I heard back from Lucy.’ Thorne studied his phone. ‘She texted about Kirby Gilson.’
‘The ME tech that was killed,’ Gwyn murmured. She’d had a terrible feeling about what they’d learn when they dug deeper into the man’s background. ‘What did she find out?’
‘That Eileen Gilson, Kirby’s widow, lives in Chevy Chase, in the really ritzy part. Her son, who did not die of leukemia – thank goodness – now goes to a private university. Mrs Gilson doesn’t have an income-generating job. She participates in a lot of charities.’
‘But she’s living well if she’s got a place in Chevy Chase,’ Phil said quietly. ‘So we add her to the list?’
Gwyn nodded. ‘Absolutely. I mean, I can understand selling out to pay for your child’s health care, but it sounds like she’s continued to receive benefits from someone. I wonder if we can get into her bank records.’
‘JD can – if we give him the information,’ Jamie said. He parked the van in front of an apartment complex. ‘For now, let’s talk to this EMT. Brent Kiley has been a medic for twenty-five years. That’s all we know about him at this point. I’m still waiting on the address for the other EMT, his partner back then. If Anne hasn’t found it by the time we’re done here, we’ll move on to Richard’s posse. Darian Hinman, VP of his daddy’s business, is first on the list.’
‘Who’s going in?’ Thorne asked. ‘It looks like the places are small. We don’t want to overwhelm the guy with all four of us.’
Phil was eyeing the lobby of the building balefully. ‘I see stairs, but no elevator. What floor does this guy live on?’
‘Third,’ Jamie muttered. ‘Shit.’
‘If it’s a walkup, Thorne and I will take it,’ Gwyn said quickly. She didn’t want Phil taxing himself on stairs, but she wouldn’t say it out loud since they weren’t supposed to know about his heart condition. ‘You two stay here and figure out where we’re going next.’
Thorne shot her a grateful look. Thank you, he mouthed.
‘You need witnesses, Thorne,’ Jamie said through clenched teeth. ‘Remember? Unimpeachable alibis?’
‘Gwyn can be my witness. I won’t cause any trouble, Jamie. I promise.’
He waited until they were in the lobby to bend down and whisper in Gwyn’s ear. ‘Thank you. I wasn’t sure how to keep Phil from overdoing it.’
She patted his arm. ‘I know. We’ll keep him covered, okay?’
His arm tensed under her palm and his eyes skittered away. ‘Okay. Let’s go see if Brent Kiley is home. We may have to try him at the firehouse if he’s not here.’
Brent Kiley was home. He opened his door looking rumpled and bleary-eyed, as if he’d just tumbled out of bed. His sweatpants had grass stains on the knees and his T-shirt was on inside-out. His graying hair stuck up in all directions. Clearly they’d dragged him out of bed.
‘I’m not interested,’ he snapped, and started to slam his door.
‘We’re not selling anything,’ Gwyn said, leaning forward enough to put her palm on the wood. ‘I promise. We just want to ask you a question.’
Kiley’s eyes had dropped to her bosom, and a familiar fear shivered down her spine. Her blouse was conservative. She showed no cleavage whatsoever, but that never seemed to matter. She resisted the urge to step back, to flee. Barely.
But only because Thorne was standing behind her. His very presence made her feel safe.
‘Mr Kiley,’ she said sharply, channeling her old self.
His gaze lifted to meet hers, his expression growing dark. ‘If this is about the Bettuzi case, I can’t talk about it.’
Gwyn blinked once, startled for a second. Recovering, she shook her head. ‘It’s not. This is about a call you responded to nineteen years ago.’
Brent Kiley had been staring at Gwyn, but now he seemed to realize that Thorne was there. His bleary eyes widened and he took a step back. ‘What do you want?’ he asked, a thread of panic in his voice.
‘Not to hurt you,’ Thorne replied calmly. ‘Do you . . . do you know me?’
Brent shook his head, but his eyes told a different story. ‘I saw you on the news, is all. You killed some woman. Why are you even out, walking the streets?’
‘Because he’s not guilty,’ Gwyn snapped. ‘Look, we need to ask you a question and we’d appreciate a straight answer. Can we come in? This may not be a topic you want your neighbors to overhear.’ With her head she gestured left, where a door had opened a sliver. ‘And that one is listening to every word we say.’
Brent scowled, holding up his phone. ‘Fine, but I’m dialing 911 if you make a move I don’t like.’
That he so readily agreed was a blinking neon sign that he knew something – hopefully something he wanted to tell them. No sane person would allow into his apartment a man Thorne’s size who’d also been accused of vicious murder.
The inside of the apartment was typical man-cave, Gwyn thought. Empty pizza boxes were piled high on a dinette table and the trash overflowed with beer cans and paper plates. It gave her new appreciation for the neatnik Thorne was. She’d never seen his place messy, except for the previous morning. It had been her first clue that something was wrong.
Brent went into the kitchen and called, ‘You want a beer?’
‘No, thanks,’ Gwyn replied. ‘Too many carbs.’
He emerged with a can and popped the top. ‘Huh. I figured you’d tell me that it wasn’t even noon.’
Gwyn shrugged. ‘I run a nightclub. It’s five o’clock somewhere.’
‘True. My schedule at the firehouse fucks with my brain. I never know what the hell time it is.’ He gestured to a sofa that was quite nice. And clean. ‘You want to sit?’
‘Sure,’ Gwyn said.
‘I’ll stand,’ Thorne rumbled.
‘Yeah,’ Brent muttered as he flopped into a ratty recliner. ‘You do that. So, what’s your fuckin’ question?’
‘Richard Linden,’ Gwyn said levelly, aware of Thorne standing right next to the edge of the sofa, within grabbing distance if she needed him. ‘You responded to the scene of his murder.’
‘Yeah,’ he said shortly. ‘I remember. Kid was carved up like a deer.’ He glanced over at Thorne. ‘You were arrested for that.’
‘And tried, and cleared,’ Thorne said, menace edging into his tone.
‘Yeah, I remember that too. What do you want to know?’
‘Yesterday’s victim was Patricia Linden Segal, Richard’s sister.’
Brent froze, the beer can only an inch from his lips. Slowly he lowered it and put it on a side table. ‘What?’
‘Yeah.’ Gwyn tilted her head. ‘I’m surprised you hadn’t heard.’
‘I did a shift yesterday. I caught the murder on the news before I started. When I finished my shift, I came home and fell into bed. You woke me up.’
‘Sorry,’ Gwyn murmured. ‘I work nights too. I hate to be woken up.’
He waved his hand. ‘Whatever. What’s your question?’
Gwyn focused on his face, watching for any flicker of guilt. ‘Did you see any foreign object in Richard Linden’s body when you transported him to the ER that day?’
‘
Yes,’ he answered readily, making Gwyn blink again. Beside her, Thorne stiffened.
‘What?’ he asked. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah.’ Brent shrugged. ‘I told the cop what I saw. Not the detective, but the first-responder cop. Nobody ever followed up and nobody ever mentioned it. And if you tell anyone I told you, I’ll call you a liar.’ He straightened abruptly, frowning again. ‘Are you wired?’
Gwyn rolled her eyes. ‘No.’
‘Good. Nobody ever threatened me.’
Gwyn’s brows shot up, struck by his odd segue and the emphasis on me. ‘But your partner was threatened?’ she guessed.
Brent just toasted her with his beer can. ‘He pushed because it wasn’t in the police report. The cops gave some song and dance about how they were holding it back so that they’d have details only the killer would know. I figured it was healthier to keep my mouth shut.’ He opened his arms and gestured broadly to the room. ‘And here I am.’
‘Where’s your partner?’ Thorne asked quietly.
Because neither Jamie nor Anne had been able to find his address.
Brent shrugged. ‘Don’t know. He up and walked a few months after your trial. Well, limped. Had a car accident. Some asshole came at him broadside, shoved him off the road and into a ravine. He managed to climb out with a broken leg. When he got the cast off, he quit and walked. Never saw him again.’
‘So why are you telling us this now?’ Thorne asked.
‘I’m not,’ Brent said with a slight smile. ‘I said nothing.’
‘Meaning you won’t tell anyone else,’ Thorne said with a frown. ‘Like the cops, even if this is important somehow.’
Brent shook his head. ‘You were a nice kid,’ he murmured. ‘You stayed there at Richard’s side and did all you could to save that prick’s life. If you hadn’t been acquitted, I’d planned to tell what I knew to the papers. That evidence had been manipulated. But you were acquitted. And I liked my legs, attached and unbroken. So I shut up.’
From the corner of her eye, Gwyn saw Thorne nod. ‘Did your old partner see the truck that hit him?’ he asked.
Brent gave Thorne a mock salute. ‘I saw what you did there. I never said it was a truck.’