All The Hidden Pieces

by Jillian Thomadsen

  Greta was taken aback. “You know who I am? That I’m married to Griffin Brock?”

  Arthur smiled. “Yes, of course. He’s mentioned your name a few times.”

  “We’re actually going through a divorce now.”

  Arthur’s smile faded. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Greta sighed. “Griffin didn’t send me. I’m here because I’m curious about…about an accident four years ago…in Vetta Park, Missouri – which is where we live. You were driving a yellow Ferrari and you ran a light and crashed into a pickup truck. It must have been two or three in the morning. Do you remember?”

  The men glanced at each other. “I’m not sure it happened just like you describe it,” Will said. “But I do remember the accident, yes.”

  “I remember it too because I was out driving that night,” Greta continued. “I gave an account to the police and then Griffin made me change my story. I told them at first that you were at fault but then I changed my story and said you weren’t.”

  “What is it you want from us?” Will asked. His voice sounded cross; his words were curt.

  “I just want to know why Griffin did that. I want you to tell me why he insisted on protecting you.”

  Will shook his head. “We never asked for anything from Griffin. If he had you change your story to the police, that’s on him and you.”

  “No one’s saying you pressured him. I just want to know why he did it – exactly how you both are connected to him.”

  Will stared straight ahead and Arthur took interest in his hands. Greta started to get the feeling that this was a big waste of time. These men were businessmen, not mobsters. If anything, their association with Griffin would probably make him appear more legitimate to the judge, not less.

  She had been expecting something different – two men who operated in the shadows of the economy: hitmen or loan sharks hired to scare the pickup driver. She had envisioned walking into a secretive, poorly lit back room, learning of schemes and dark plots that Griffin had somehow partaken in – maybe by providing funds, or laundering them.

  This meeting had been her Hail Mary effort to go back to the courtroom with something to show the judge. She just wanted to paint a picture of Griffin that was closer to accurate, something aside from the flawless, doting part-time father he played in court. Instead, he just seemed like a man associated with two well-established businessmen.

  “We were in town that day to look at some land that Griffin was selling,” Arthur said. “A few acres of grass and brush along a busy commercial street. If Griffin told you to change your story about the traffic accident, I think he was just worried that if you pointed the finger at us in the traffic accident, we’d abandon the deal.”

  “Oh,” Greta said. “Did the deal fall through?”

  Will laughed. “You don’t know? We went ahead with the sale and developed that land into Northman Shopping Center. It’s actually made us a ton of money.”

  Greta sat back in her chair and considered this. Northman Shopping Center was a high-end retail mall that housed boutique clothing stores, three expensive restaurants and a jewelry store. It was technically outside Vetta Park, in an area east of her suburb that was known for affluence. Greta drove by Northman Center occasionally, and each time tried not to scoff at the clientele’s air of superiority. She had no idea Griffin had any connection to Northman.

  “I don’t know why you thought I would know about that deal,” Greta said. “Griffin didn’t clue me in on anything work-related, ever.”

  She felt a little foolish for voicing one of her marital criticisms to these two men. If they had initially been under the impression that Griffin sent her, they had no idea what her marriage had really been like – and probably weren’t too concerned with the personal details.

  “Well, Arthur and I thought you were his partner this whole time,” Will said. “The mysterious business partner…”

  “Griffin has a business partner?” Greta asked.

  “Yes, I mean – Griffin is the one who signs the paperwork and the one whose name is on all of the documents. But there’s a silent partner who works with him who he talks about every once in awhile,” Will said. “Based on his comments, I think this partner provides initial funding for land and the ultimate approval on the deals that go through.”

  “Yeah, and right now we’re looking at doing a second deal with Griffin – a commercial building on Olympic and Prosser,” Arthur added. “We’ve been a little unsure about whether to go ahead and he seems like he’s really itching to close…so that’s why we thought he sent you.”

  “No.” Greta smiled and shook her head. “I had no idea about any of it.”

  The conversation ended a little while later, and Greta walked back to the parking lot while she thought about the meeting. Griffin – who was stoic and taciturn to the point of being almost reclusive – actually had a business partner. Someone who clearly had a role but who remained behind the scenes, someone who made decisions but stayed hidden. Greta knew the realm of possibilities was infinite but there were only a few large-scale real estate players in their town. One name in particular echoed in her head as she made the long drive back to Vetta Park: Steven Vance.

  ***

  Greta didn’t drive home after her meeting with Arthur and Will. It was late when she arrived back at the St. Louis suburbs – night fog settled over the October sky, a few stars visible and not many cars on the streets. Instead of turning left off the highway exit towards Vetta Park, Greta turned right – in the direction of Griffin’s new townhouse.

  She hadn’t been there before but she knew his address. She smiled to herself as she passed Northman Shopping Center, and two gated communities of exquisite mansions that backed up against the Mississippi River. At the end of the street was a cluster of newly developed condominiums – a large banner at the entrance marketing the spacious and luxurious vacant units to would-be buyers.

  Greta drove up to the security booth and was relieved to find it wasn’t staffed yet. She drove through and found Griffin’s unit, parked her car and rang the doorbell. He answered quickly.

  “Oh…hi,” he said. His face fell as though he’d been expecting someone else.

  “Hi,” Greta said. “Can I come in?”

  Griffin seemed unsure of what to say but Greta didn’t wait for him to find the right way to turn down her request. She brushed past him into the foyer and looked around. The apartment was bright and airy, with exposed brick and a fireplace in the living room. The interior looked like a furniture and lighting designer had staged it. Greta saw hallways and staircases, high ceilings and a huge kitchen. Their split-level house on Avery Place was diminutive and run-down by comparison.

  “What are you doing here?” Griffin asked. “Did you just come here to look around?”

  “No, no,” Greta said pleasantly. “I wanted to let you know about a meeting I just had. You’ll never guess who I met with so I’ll just come right out and tell you. My new friends, Will Carter and Arthur Forsett.”

  Griffin’s jaw hung open – suspended for a few seconds before he tried to mask his surprise. “What? They’re here?”

  “No, no,” Greta said again. “I went there – to Chicago. I figured it was time I paid a visit to Carter Commercial Development.”

  She was purposefully light and casual – perhaps sounding a bit too proud of herself. Griffin continued to stare at her as though he didn’t even recognize her, and Greta understood why.

  She had always been so afraid to annoy or anger him, so eager to gratify him and to prove she was a worthy wife. But that stopped here and now. Now she was in the fight of her life and she was going to do whatever it took to win. He had underestimated her and not for the first time.

  “What do you want, Greta?” Griffin asked.

  “You know what I want. I want John. And I want more than full custody. I want a good life for him. He’s having a hard time in school but I found a tutor who specializes in kids with learning
disabilities. It’s not cheap; the cost is eighty dollars an hour but I think he needs it. And I want the house.”

  She saw him recoil so she added, “Don’t think you can just walk all over me, Griffin. I’m not some eighteen-year old kid, pouring people’s coffee and begging for tips and waiting for the next good thing to happen to me! I have open lines of communication with your business associates. They mentioned you’re about to do another deal – the Prosser and Olympic property – and I could tank it, Griffin. I could tell them things that would destroy that deal and any other deal–”

  Griffin turned suddenly, grabbed a vase from a nearby shelf and smashed it across the kitchen floor. His face had become surly – a snarl stretched across his lips, his eyes wide and round. He looked inhuman, or at least, primitive – a rage unleashed. His face unchanged, he took another vase – a mirror of the first one – and smashed it on the ground with the same fury.

  Greta stood back and tried to remain expressionless while she watched him. She reminded herself that he was prone to theatrics, not violence. He could be mean and underhanded, sneaky and wrathful, but he was not abusive.

  Sure enough, once he’d finished with the two shattered vases, he stepped carefully over the shards of glass and walked up the stairs. He was gone for ten minutes. Greta stayed in the foyer and waited. She wondered if she misjudged him, just as he had misjudged her. Could he be polishing or arming a weapon? Thinking about his best tactical response? She stayed still and tried to listen, but all she could hear were muffled sounds that wafted downstairs every so often. It was impossible to tell if he was speaking to himself or to someone else – or if he was even talking in coherent sentences.

  At last Griffin trotted down the stairs and stood a few feet away from her. He looked angry, but his rage was contained behind a clenched jaw. For a few moments, he just stood against the front hallway closet and glared at her. Eventually, he said, “Alright. I talked with my lawyer. You can have full custody of John and the Avery Place house. But that’s it. Nothing else. You want some holistic, eastern medicine doctor for John, you figure out a way to pay for it…”

  “It’s a tutor, not a doctor, Griffin. The public schools are failing him…”

  Griffin continued in a voice that was cool, words carefully measured. “Greta, believe me when I tell you that I do not care. The public schools in Vetta Park are fine. John will get a fine education. He doesn’t need a tutor. He needs his mother to start imposing some discipline and get him to work harder. He’s a lazy kid, Greta, because you allow him to be.”

  “He’s not lazy! He tries really hard…”

  Griffin held up his right hand and shook his head once sharply – right to left. “Greta, I don’t care. Here’s the deal: full custody of John and the house, I’ll pay some alimony and child support and we cut all ties to each other. Otherwise we can drag each other through court and mutually ruin each other’s lives. Now, what’s your answer?”

  “Are you still going to be in John’s life?” Greta asked.

  “What did I say, Greta. I said cut all ties. How about this? I’ll see him once every few months. My secretary will call you to arrange it. Besides, he’s probably better off this way, right?”

  “It’s not – that’s not…” Greta searched for the right words but she was too caught in the moment to think of how to phrase it.

  “Are you taking the deal or not?” Griffin pressed.

  Greta knew she should talk with Lance Garcia but she didn’t want the moment to pass. She didn’t want to give Griffin time to meet with his lawyer and come up with a different arrangement, or for him to chat with Will and Arthur and learn that his connection with them was impermeable, regardless of what she told them. At this very moment, Greta had ammunition against Griffin that was valuable and she had to strike then or potentially lose full custody.

  “I’ll take the deal. Full custody and the house, alimony and child support and we cut all ties.”

  “Deal.”

  They shook hands tersely and then Greta left and went back to her car. During the drive home, she felt both content and hesitant about the agreement they’d reached. It was a huge relief to get full custody over John and to not have to worry about moving somewhere else – a cloud of uncertainty that washed through her – threatening to consumer her, to commit her to acts of lawlessness such as running off to Mexico – now dispelled.

  But there was something about Griffin’s desire to be done with her that bugged her – something about the certain way he repeated cut all ties that made her wonder whether she was doing the right thing. At that moment, she had a ten-year old boy who wanted to spend time with his father. And Griffin’s all-or-nothing attitude towards custody made her worry about downstream implications of the arrangement that she might have to confront in the years ahead.

  It wasn’t until she was three blocks from home that she realized she’d forgotten to press him about the identity of his business partner.

  Chapter Seventeen

  September 20, 2017

  Martinez seemed stuck. He was caught in a carousel of interrogation questions – directionless and circular. Vance was cordial and succinct – answers too brief to weave a web that could be used to ensnare him – and mostly reiterating his lack of knowledge, rather than providing any helpful leads.

  Martinez asked, “How did Greta Brock know where to find you?”

  Vance: “I have no idea.”

  “Why do you think she was acting crazy?”

  Vance: “Probably because her son had just gotten assaulted. But why that anger was aimed at me, I don’t know.”

  “You had nothing to do with her son’s assault?”

  Vance: “That’s right.”

  “Can you offer up any suggestions as to why the family is missing now?”

  Vance: “I have no idea.”

  “Or where they went?”

  Vance: “No idea.”

  Martinez sat back in his chair and frowned at his notes. The room was silent for a short while. Vance sipped his Coke and interlaced his fingers. He pressed them together and then released – a nervous habit.

  Hobbs was still watching through the glass. It was during this moment of stillness that Hobbs realized she needed to act. This decision was less of an urge and more of a moment of clarity.

  Steven Vance got away with too much. He was given too much leeway. Hobbs knew it was a delicate dance. Dig into him too much and Vance might demand a lawyer. But the Vetta Park Police Department needed to do more than repeat the same questions and accept the same answers. If Martinez wasn’t going to do it, Hobbs was going to try.

  She stepped away from the glass and left the room, took a few steps, inhaled sharply and opened the door to the interrogation room. The room had a tangy odor – like lemony fresh scent cleaner – and she had to take another breath to calm the churn of her stomach.

  Vance had his back to her and he barely stirred when the door opened –but Martinez shot up quickly and approached her with a surprised look.

  “Hi,” he said. “Did you want to talk to me outside?”

  “No,” Hobbs answered. “I want to talk to Steven Vance in here.”

  Vance turned around then and recognized her. Perhaps he had recognized her voice. “Roberta?” he asked.

  She felt unsteady – in the presence of a man she had tried strenuously to avoid for years. Up close, his bulk took on an exaggerated quality. He looked giant instead of tall, hulking instead of muscular. And he still had the same aroma that whiffed off of him – light deodorant, mixed with coffee. She tried not to remember.

  “Hi Steven,” Hobbs said flatly, her stomach still churning. She took a seat next to him and across from Martinez. She tried to appear smooth and cunning but her heart was pounding and her limbs felt weak.

  For five years, she had mentally prepared for the moment they saw each other again. Then, when it seemed likely that they could coexist in the same city without running into each other, she grew comfortable
with the idea of never having to face him. The St. Louis metropolitan area was large enough to accommodate two completely separate social circles. Every time his likeness or name appeared in a local charity register, she could turn the page. Every time someone casually mentioned his name, she could change the subject.

  But now she was sitting next to him and in this context, she had the upper hand. She was a police detective and he was – not a suspect exactly but a suspicious person. She could decide what to ask, what type of interrogation this would be and when the questioning would end. This reversal of status was completely different from how it had been.

  Hobbs was thinking of how to begin her questioning when Vance spoke up. “How have you been, Roberta? I’ve thought about calling you up every once in awhile.”

  “Steven, let’s keep the topic on Greta Carpenter and the whole Carpenter family, shall we? Otherwise we’ll be here all day.”

  Vance shrugged. “Fine by me. I’ve already said everything I have to say.”

  “Well you may have provided some answers, but we think there’s more to the story that you’re not telling us,” Hobbs said. Her heart was still throbbing, body trembling, but her voice was smooth and calm.

  “What more can I tell you?” Vance asked.

  “We know you were involved in the assault of John Brock,” Hobbs said. “Even though you didn’t assault him directly, you still ordered it.”

  Hobbs had no proof backing up this claim. She didn’t have an arrest for the assault, nor did she have a victim statement, a police account or any eyewitness statements. All Hobbs had to go on was the indication of a professional – the shallow wound that would have told a much different story if it weren’t the mark of someone who knew what he was doing.

  “I’m not telling you anything in here,” Vance said. “You want to talk to me, let’s go outside and have a talk. Otherwise, unless you arrest me, I believe I’m free to go.”

  Hobbs gave a vague nod and thought about the request. Outside there was no recording device, no one-way glass and no ability to showcase what he said in front of a courtroom at a later date. Then again, she was at an absolute dead end…and getting any kind of admission from Steven Vance remained her only hope for forward trajectory. She had no ability to keep him in the police station and he was well aware of this fact. The prospect of an outside chat wasn’t ideal, but it was a lifeline that kept the case tethered to a resolution.