“Get in the car.”
It was an order.
“We can’t leave,” she said. “Not after having come all this way.”
“We’re not leaving. Get in.”
Something about the grim set of his jaw told her that there was no point in arguing. She slipped back into the passenger seat and closed the door.
“You think something’s wrong, don’t you?” she asked.
“If she’s in there and if she’s okay, she should have at least looked out the window to see who was coming up the drive.”
Charlotte did not respond. A bone-deep dread settled on her. Please, she thought, not another one gone. Not like Louise. Not dead.
Max drove the rest of the way up the drive and stopped in front of the trailer.
“I’ll take a look,” he said.
He got out of the car and glanced back briefly when Charlotte opened her own door and started forward to join him. She knew he wanted to order her to get back into the vehicle. She just shook her head. He didn’t like it, but he didn’t fight it.
He went up the three old metal steps and rapped sharply on the door. There was no answer. He tried the handle.
“It’s locked,” he said. He paused, his attention focused on the aluminum panel beside the door. “Shit.” His voice was very soft, very cold.
He vaulted down from the top step and pried open the panel. Charlotte caught a glimpse of mechanical apparatus, but before she could ask any questions Max was issuing orders again.
“Get back,” he said.
Bewildered, she retreated a few steps. Max picked up a fist-sized rock and smashed it against the nearest window. Glass shattered.
Charlotte could have sworn that she heard the trailer take a deep, gasping breath. Max smashed another window and then he kicked the door again and again. There was a loud crack as the old lock snapped.
“Stay out here,” Max ordered. “Call nine-one-one.”
He took a deep breath and rushed inside the trailer. He reappeared seconds later with Victoria draped over his shoulder. He hauled her down the steps and put her on the ground.
Charlotte examined her quickly while she waited for the emergency operator to respond. There was no sign of injury. Victoria was alive, but she was deeply asleep. Unnaturally asleep.
Charlotte looked up, horrified. “Another overdose?”
“No,” Max said. “Tell the operator we’ve got a woman unconscious from carbon monoxide poisoning. And tell her to send the cops as well as the medics. This was attempted murder.”
CHAPTER 47
“Someone tried to murder Victoria by rigging the trailer’s old heater box so that it didn’t vent to the outside,” Max said. “Carbon monoxide is odorless. The trailer didn’t have a detector. Victoria went to bed and went to sleep. Over time the gas built up inside. Old trailers are notorious for that kind of accident.”
Charlotte shuddered. “But this wasn’t an accident, was it?”
“No. Someone who knew what he was doing sabotaged the heater. Went out of his way to make it look like an accident.”
They were sitting in a small café at the edge of town. Victoria was in intensive care at the regional hospital. No one knew when she would wake up—if she woke up. And even if she survived, her memory of events would probably be foggy.
The local police had not been convinced that they were dealing with attempted murder. Charlotte had overheard one of them comment that old trailers were prone to carbon monoxide disasters. Someone else had remarked that the trailer had fallen into disrepair after the owner had moved to Seattle. Another officer had pointed out that it was possible some transients had moved in for a while and messed around with the heater in an attempt to make it function more effectively.
“If we hadn’t arrived when we did, she would have died and the authorities probably would have blamed the death on a faulty heater,” Charlotte said.
“Probably. She’s still in grave danger. You heard the doctor. There’s no way to know how long she’ll be unconscious.”
“At least she’s got a chance,” Charlotte said. “Thank goodness we decided to drive out here early today. If she lives, it will be because of you, Max.”
But he wasn’t listening. She could tell that his attention was fixed on something else now.
“She’s been here a few days,” he said. “But evidently the heater didn’t go bad until last night.”
Charlotte watched him closely. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that the killer showed up yesterday.”
“How could he sabotage the heater without alerting her?”
Max tapped one finger very slowly against the side of his cup. “Maybe by using the same method he used on Louise. Victoria was probably drugged first, but she wasn’t given a lethal dose. Once she was out, the killer sabotaged the heater, hoping to make it look like an accident.”
“No wonder the members of the investment club are scared,” Charlotte said. “Someone really is trying to kill them.”
Max looked at her. “Would Jocelyn have enough mechanical know-how to rig a trailer heater?”
“Don’t say that. Don’t even think it. Jocelyn is not the killer.”
“I understand you’re convinced that she’s innocent. But I need to look at all the angles. Level with me. Could she have been responsible for screwing around with that heater?”
Charlotte forced herself to think about the question. “I don’t know. How hard would it be?”
“Not hard at all if you knew what you were doing.”
Charlotte sighed. “I wouldn’t know how to do it, but Jocelyn is much more mechanically minded than I am. She’s into the whole DIY thing. She keeps her motorcycle and her car in good repair and she has a boating license. She’s not afraid to tackle all kinds of home improvement projects. She knows how to use a gun. Yes, I suppose it’s possible she might know how to sabotage a trailer heater, but I know her. You have to believe me. She didn’t murder her best friend and she wouldn’t have tried to kill Victoria.”
Max drank some coffee and lowered the cup. He looked out the café window, watching the storm that was now hammering the coastline. His eyes were very cold.
“Someone who knew that Jocelyn was good with the DIY stuff might have set things up so that anyone who suspected sabotage would leap to the conclusion that it was Jocelyn who tried to kill Victoria,” he said. “Or the killer could have assumed that no one would notice the rigged heater. But either way, it feels like Victoria knew the killer.”
“Max,” she said, “if you really believe that Jocelyn has gone totally psycho, tell me now.”
He met her eyes. “What I believe is that we need to go back to the start of this thing.”
“Are you talking about Louise’s murder?”
“No. I’m talking about your stepsister’s rape. One thing we know for sure is that she was convinced her assailant was someone on the campus. The older detective we talked to at the Loring Police Department, Atkins, said that was his conclusion, too. He said they were starting to interview some of the men at the college when Briggs told him that the department was being pressured to drop the case and then the evidence box was lost.”
“Which ensured that the case got dropped. So?”
“You said that Jocelyn has always been convinced that the man who attacked her was a student,” Max said.
“Right.”
“Why did she exclude the other men who would have been on campus at the time? Janitors? Groundskeepers? Security people? Academic staff?”
“A lot of little reasons. I can’t recall all of them, but I remember she insisted that the attacker wore gloves—fancy leather driving gloves, not work gloves. When he was struggling to get the bag over her head, she caught a glimpse of his shoes. They were expensive, trendy running shoes. He didn’t talk muc
h, but when he did, she was sure he sounded like he was close to her age.”
“Every new wave of young people in high school and college seems to develop its own accent and a certain pattern of speech.”
“Exactly.” Charlotte sipped her coffee. “And then there was the fact that he had planned the attack down to the smallest detail. He used a condom.”
“He was trying to avoid leaving any evidence.”
“Also, the path where he waited for her was a shortcut to the library that only the students who lived in her dorm used on a regular basis. He obviously knew that. Like I said, it was a bunch of little things, but when added together they convinced her that the rapist was a student at the college.”
“Apparently Atkins was convinced, too.” Max set the coffee mug down on the table. “We need to go through the names on that list that was in Jocelyn’s safe-deposit box.”
“There must be almost three hundred. What do you expect to find that Jocelyn couldn’t?”
“Welcome to my world,” Max said. “This is where an investigation becomes a slog.”
“Ah, the one-foot-in-front-of-the-other thing?”
“Right. We’re going to try to find out what happened to each one of those men on that list.”
“What are we looking for?”
“We want to know where they are now and what they’re doing.”
Charlotte exhaled slowly. “You’re right. That could take a long time.”
“Not necessarily. We’ll be able to tap the resources of one of the finest, most efficient investigative organizations on the planet.”
Charlotte stared at him. “You’ve got connections with the FBI?”
“I do, but we’re not going to bother with that approach. The FBI is strictly second-string compared to the detailed files of the average college alumni records office. In my experience, no one does a finer job of keeping track of people.”
Charlotte nodded. “Right. For networking purposes.”
“That, too, but mostly it’s all about the money. How do you think colleges build up those big-assed endowments that keep them going? Former students are a huge source of revenue. So, yes, alumni organizations keep very close tabs on former students.”
“Got it. Still, it’s going to take a long time to check out the whereabouts of a few hundred men.”
“We’ll have help.”
“Who?”
“My dad.”
“Mr. Salinas?”
“Anson Salinas was one hell of a cop in his day. And it just so happens he needs a job.”
“Okay, I get the picture. But I still don’t understand what we’re looking for.”
“A pattern,” Max said. “There is always a pattern.”
CHAPTER 48
“I see you managed to make my birthday reception,” Marian Greenslade said.
Trey smiled. He kissed her cheek.
“I told you, I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he said.
The reception was a formal affair. The venue was the Loring College faculty club. The college was always delighted to accommodate any member of the Greenslade family. It was, after all, the Greenslade endowment that paid for everything from faculty positions and classrooms to special collections for the library.
Marian Greenslade was the center of attention. As usual, Trey thought. Whenever she was in the room, everyone paid homage. She was the undisputed queen not only of the campus but of the town. Everyone knew she was the real power behind the throne of Loring-Greenslade. She took her role seriously.
She had been a beautiful woman in her younger days. Over the years she had transitioned gracefully from attractive to formidable. Today was her eightieth birthday celebration. Her mind was crystal clear, and it seemed to Trey that her eyes were as ice-cold as ever.
“Can I get you a glass of champagne?” he asked.
“Yes, please. By the way, Angela Carson is here.”
“Of course she is. Angela wouldn’t miss this reception, either.”
Angela was the woman that Marian had handpicked for him to marry. Angela was even more ambitious than she was beautiful, which was saying a great deal. She had made it clear she was interested—not in him, but in the Greenslade money. He felt sure they could do business together.
He made his way through the crowd, stopping to greet various VIPs. Now that his father was gone, he was the new face of Loring-Greenslade. Like Marian, he had a role to play in the community, and he intended to play it to the hilt.
At the open bar he got a glass of champagne for Marian, but he ordered a whiskey for himself. He needed something to help him get through the long afternoon ahead.
He collected the drinks and turned around to find Angela smiling at him. He smiled back. She was a beautiful woman, but when she was dressed for a formal occasion, as she was today, she exuded an aura of pure glamour. Every man in the room was watching her out of the corner of his eye. A number of women were also taking covert second looks.
“I see you made it after all,” she said. “I was a little worried that I might have to make excuses for you. Did your business in Seattle go well?”
“Everything is under control,” he said. He surveyed her from head to toe and put a little heat into his smile. “You look fantastic. The most spectacular woman in the room. And also the most intelligent.”
Angela laughed her light, appealing laugh. “Don’t let your grandmother hear you say that. She’s convinced that she’s the smartest woman in the room.”
He grinned. “Why don’t you come with me and help me feed her ego? You know how she loves it.”
“Of course.”
They walked through the throng together. Heads turned. Trey allowed himself to savor the attention.
It wasn’t just Angela who was drawing every eye. Today he was making his first high-profile social appearance as the heir apparent to the position his father had held. He was no longer in the old bastard’s very long shadow. He was poised to take over the helm of one of the most successful pharmaceutical research firms in the Pacific Northwest. The king is dead, long live the king.
“Don’t look now, but your cousin is watching you as if he would like to see you fall off a cliff,” Angela whispered.
Trey glanced across the room. Sure enough, Charles was looking daggers at him. Trey gave him a blinding smile. Charles turned away and resumed his conversation with a bearded member of the faculty.
“Nothing new there,” Trey said.
“He wants to take your father’s place, you know,” Angela said casually.
“He hasn’t got a chance.”
Angela smiled, satisfied. “No, he doesn’t, does he?”
Eventually he would sell Loring-Greenslade, Trey decided. He did not plan to follow in his father’s footsteps and waste his life poring over sales graphs and charts in the executive suite. But for now the company gave him an excellent platform from which to control his destiny.
That was what he craved most of all, he thought; what he had always craved—total control and the power that accompanied it. Now, at long last, it was within his reach.
But first he had to find the evidence box and deal with the women who had complicated his life. Strategy was everything.
He glanced across the room. Charles still had his back to him.
Trey smiled to himself. You don’t stand a chance, cousin. Grandma always liked me best.
CHAPTER 49
Max’s phone rang, shattering the oddly companionable silence that had settled on Charlotte’s living room. She looked up from her perch on the sofa where she had been making notes.
Max had been typing names into his computer. He stopped, picked up the phone and glanced at the screen.
“It’s the Loring Police Department,” he said.
He took the call.
“Cutler,” he
said.
He listened intently, frowning a little, and then he took his little notepad out of his pocket, picked up a pen and jotted down some notes.
“Right,” he said. “I appreciate the update, Walsh. No, nothing concrete on this end. Yes, I’m still pursuing the investigation. I will. Yes. Thanks.”
He ended the call and looked at Charlotte.
“Roxanne Briggs has disappeared,” he said. “Walsh says he drove back up the mountain today to ask her a few more questions. She was gone. There were no signs of foul play. Evidently she packed up and left.”
“She probably got nervous after her husband was killed. After all, she was married to him for decades. She must have known his secrets.”
“I keep thinking about the issue of timing,” Max said. “We’re looking at a cascade of recent events that all seem to be connected to the attack on Jocelyn over a decade ago. It’s as if a dam that had been holding back the past was suddenly breached.”
“You think that some single event triggered the situation we’re in now?”
“Yes. Whatever it was, it happened in the past few months. When we find it, we’ll be able to see the complete pattern.”
She looked down at her list. “You’re right about the alumni records. There was no problem logging in under Jocelyn’s ID. We’re making progress but not very quickly.”
“Time to call for backup,” Max said.
She glanced up. “Who?”
“Anson is good at this kind of stuff.”
CHAPTER 50
“You’re sure you want me to handle this for you?” Reed Stephens closed the file that Max had placed on his desk. “You don’t owe that family a damn thing.”
Max had been distracting himself by leafing through the morning edition of the newspaper. He tossed the paper aside and got to his feet.
Reed’s office was located in a downtown office tower. He specialized in business law. He was not one of the high-flying merger-and-acquisitions experts, but he had helped several local start-ups and small businesses get off the ground.
When All the Girls Have Gone Page 23
