Miranda moved with her. “What was that?”
“A voice mail from Dawn Sutherland.”
Miranda stopped short at the passenger side of the SUV. “Who?”
The detective turned around and lifted her hands. “Lydia Sutherland’s sister.”
“Oh.”
Miranda remembered a note about the sister in the file. Over the years she’d contacted the department a lot about her sister’s case. She’d been interviewed several times but never had anything relevant to add to the investigation.
“She’s called me every week since I took on this case,” Templeton explained. “In fact she’s called the station at least once a month since her sister died. She wants us to find her killer.”
“Bummer.” That was a lot of pressure. Especially now that they had a whole lot of nothing to show for their efforts.
Miranda put her hands in her pockets not knowing what else to say. She could only imagine what the poor woman must be going through. A nightmare that never ended. She wished with all her heart they had something to offer her.
“I should go see her,” Templeton said softly.
Miranda’s head shot up. “To tell her we’ve got nothing?”
Templeton sighed a sigh as weary as Miranda felt. “To bring her up to speed on the case. She’s got a right to know.”
“Yeah, guess she does.” Miranda scratched at her hair.
“I’ll drop you off at the station.”
Miranda reached for the handle of the Tahoe. “Like hell you are, Templeton. I’m coming with you. And Parker will want to be there, too. Let me call him.”
As she climbed back into the government SUV and dialed her husband she glanced at the time. It was mid afternoon. He should be done with his so-called interview.
But the call went to voice mail.
She swallowed down the anger rising in her throat and turned to her new partner. “He can’t be reached. Let’s just head out there.”
“Okay,” she said grimly.
And Templeton pulled out of the parking spot and headed back to Lakeshore Drive.
Chapter Forty-Five
Dawn Sutherland lived in the Loop in a glistening high rise of luxury apartments off Randolph Street.
Templeton’s badge got them into the residential parking deck, and they made their way inside, and found the correct bank of elevators. Soon they were on the twenty-ninth floor, knocking at a tall silver door.
With no preliminary tread of footsteps reverberating through the soundproof walls, the door was suddenly opened by a statuesque woman in white and lavender.
She had a creamy complexion and wore her hair in an elegant upsweep held in place with some of those oriental bamboo sticks Miranda could never get to work, not that she put much effort into hairstyles. Dawn Sutherland was blond, like her sister, had her hazel eyes. Though the older sister’s carried the pain of loss in them instead of the youthful enthusiasm Miranda had seen in Lydia’s photo.
She held papers in one hand.
“Oh, Detective Templeton,” she said as if she’d come out of a trance of deep concentration. “I didn’t think you’d get here this soon. I lost track of the time.” She had a soft, lilting voice. Elegant but without any pretension, with a hint of understandable sadness in it.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Sutherland.” Templeton nodded in Miranda’s direction. “This is Miranda Steele. She’s a private investigator who’s been helping me on the case.”
“Private investigator?” She blinked in surprise.
“Yes, ma’am.” Templeton didn’t elaborate on why a PI had been called in.
After a moment the woman realized she wasn’t getting an explanation. So she simply stepped aside. “Where are my manners? Please, come in. Both of you.”
Tall and lean and graceful in her flowing tunic and lounge slacks, Dawn Sutherland led them through a short hall and into a wide sitting space with huge windows overlooking a breathtaking view of the city.
The room was done in an ultra modern style, painted in whites and pale pastels. Filled with all sorts of high end art pieces it quietly echoed wealth and sophistication. A short nearby wall was covered with a painting of a river in a forest that looked so real it made Miranda want to take her shoes off and go wading in it. On another wall a design of rectangles in bold primary colors seemed to dance. Overhead the light fixture was a dazzling hodgepodge of golden swirls and discs that made you dizzy if you looked at it too long.
The woman gestured to a long modular couch in a sophisticated gray. “Sit down, won’t you? Would either of you like anything to drink?”
“No, thanks,” Templeton said. “You?” she asked Miranda.
Miranda shook her head, eyeing a strange looking cobalt blue piece of glass on a side table with a long, swanlike neck. She couldn’t make out what it was supposed to be.
“Long way from Iowa,” she said as she carefully settled into a corner of the couch.
Templeton sat down beside her. “Ms. Sutherland is the owner of the Dawn Sutherland Gallery on North Michigan.”
“Oh,” Miranda said as if she knew the place.
Dawn set her papers down on the table with the glass swan and settled into a bright red chair that should have clashed with her outfit but didn’t.
“I’ve been working at home today, catching up on some of the accounting,” she explained. “I’ve been trying to keep my mind off…things.”
She sighed and gazed out the window. The sorrow in her eyes made Miranda’s heart break for her. Evidently Lydia’s sister had done well. Had her own gallery, was no doubt rolling in the dough. But no amount of money could take away the pain she’d carried for fifteen years.
“Funny you should mention Iowa,” she said in a soft, faraway voice.
“Oh?”
“I’ve been thinking about our childhood lately. Well, Lydia’s childhood, really. I was five years her senior. We grew up on our parents’ farm. It was so remote, so far away from everything. It took an hour to get to a decent city. We got to go to Des Moines only a few times a year.”
She smoothed the fabric of her slacks. “We both hated the farm. We dreamed of running away to the city and becoming artists. Well, Lydia did. She had the talent. I settled for art history.” She laughed sadly.
“In the summers we used to sit on the porch of our house, gazing out over the endless flat fields. Lydia would sketch in a pad while I read books about Michelangelo or Da Vinci. We both longed to go somewhere exciting. We didn’t know how lucky we were. We didn’t know what we had. How precious it was.” She swiped a hand under her eye.
“Are your parents still alive?” Miranda asked softly.
Dawn shook her head. “They’re both deceased now. My mother passed away from cancer last year. My father died two years after Lydia. She was his baby. I think her death broke his heart.”
If Miranda thought she couldn’t feel any worse about the news they had to deliver, she just learned she was wrong.
On the couch beside her Templeton shifted. Miranda wanted to ask the questions, but since the detective had the relationship she let her go ahead.
“Ms. Sutherland,” Templeton began. “We have reason to believe we’ve discovered the last person to see your sister.”
Dawn’s eyes went wide as she let out a little gasp. “You do? Who is it?”
“His name is Adam Tannenburg. Do you remember that name?”
Creases formed on her milky brow. “Tannenburg? Adam? No. Who was he?”
“We think he was one of Lydia’s…boyfriends.” Templeton was trying to be discreet.
“Boyfriends?” Dawn Sutherland rubbed her arms as if she were suddenly cold. “You know Lydia had a lot of them. We’ve talked about that.”
“Yes.”
“I warned her over and over to be careful but she was just so trusting. Do you think this Adam Tannenburg was the one who killed her?” Her fingers played with a gold chain at her neck. She suddenly looked very fragile.
Templeton was silent.
Miranda decided this was a good time to jump in. “Did she ever tell you about the guys she was dating, Ms. Sutherland?”
The woman looked at her as if she’d forgotten she was in the room. “The guys?”
“Her boyfriends. Did you talk on the phone while she was in school?”
Dawn looked a little lost. “I was trying to start a business in Des Moines. My hope was to move here to Chicago, which, of course, I eventually did. I was very busy at the time. Lydia was, too. No, we didn’t talk on the phone much. But she wrote me. She was old-fashioned that way. I still have her letters.”
Templeton cleared her throat. “Why didn’t you mention these letters to the police?”
“There was nothing in them. I knew she was in love with someone. I told you that. I told the police that at the time. But she never said who he was.”
Frowning Miranda sat forward. “She didn’t tell you his name?”
Dawn shook her head with a sad laugh. “We had sort of a code. We used to use it to keep our parents from finding out who we were dating in high school. It was silly.”
“Your sister had a code name for this guy?”
“Lydia called him her ‘David’—after the sculpture by Michelangelo. You’re familiar with it?”
“I think so.” Miranda vaguely remembered a statue of naked dude in a museum she’d seen in some picture somewhere. She wished Parker were here. He knew art.
Templeton’s face looked stiffer than usual. “That’s all she told you about him?”
Dawn raised her hands in a helpless gesture. “I’ll have to show you. I keep the letters in my room. I’ll go get them.”
She disappeared down a hall and returned a moment later holding a stack of five small envelopes tied with a pretty blue ribbon.
“You can see there aren’t very many of them. As I said we were both busy at the time.”
She sat again, cradling the letters in her lap. She untied the ribbon and gently opened the first one.
Tears came to her eyes as she read. “She’s talking about her struggles in her classes. They were a lot harder than she expected. And then she mentions this young man. Michelangelo sculpted David as a god. An Apollo. Lydia called her boyfriend that, too. See?”
Miranda leaned over and took the letter. With Templeton peering over her shoulder she read from the part Dawn had pointed to.
“I’m seeing my Apollo again tonight. Oh, Dawn. I do think he’s the one. We talk for hours and hours and never get tired of each other.” The next few lines were about school. Then she picked up on the boyfriend again. “Last night my David said he loves me. Can you believe it? He loves me. I didn’t say anything back to him. I was too stunned. But I do love him. I love him so much. What do you think Mama and Daddy will say?”
What if Lydia couldn’t tell this guy she loved him? What if that made him mad? Really mad. Was that the reason he’d killed her?
Miranda skimmed the rest of the letter and handed it back. “Does she ever mention any details about this man in the letters? The color of his hair, for instance?”
Dawn shook her head. “No. Nothing.”
He must have been good looking if she called him “Apollo.” Vaguely Miranda recalled the statue was tall and muscular. Like everyone said Adam Tannenburg was.
Dawn paged through the other letters. “Wait. Here’s something.” She put her fingers to her lips. “I’d forgotten about that.”
Templeton jolted a little. “What?”
“This is an earlier letter. She mentions a hair color, but it’s not the same person.” Dawn read from it. “Tonight I’m seeing my dark haired Rembrandt.”
Miranda’s stomach tensed. “Dark haired?”
“Yes. Here.”
“Tonight I’m seeing my dark haired Rembrandt. I know you think I’m terrible for stringing him along all this time and I see that you’re right.”
“Sounds like a different guy,” Templeton commented.
Dawn looked up. “Lydia had called me a week or so before she wrote this. She told me she was dating both of these young men at the same time.”
Miranda raised a brow. “Both ‘Apollo’ and, uh, ‘Rembrandt’?’”
“Yes. Both were getting serious about her. I told her that it wasn’t fair to either of them. I told her she should break up with one of them.”
“And she didn’t mention either of their names during this call?”
Dawn put a hand to her cheek. “No. No, I would have remembered. I’m sure I would have.”
So now they had “Apollo” who might have been Tannenburg, and some other dude with dark hair she called “Rembrandt.” Talk about confusing.
“What else does the letter say?” Templeton asked gently.
Dawn read on. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to break up with him. It’s my David I love. My Apollo. I know Rembrandt won’t like it. I know he’ll be angry. To tell the truth, I’m a little afraid of him.”
Afraid of the other guy? “And did she break up with him? This ‘Rembrandt’?”
Again Dawn raised her hands. “I don’t remember her saying that.” She scanned through the rest of the letters. “I don’t see any further mention of him.”
Miranda read the entire break-up letter, handing the pages to Templeton as she finished.
Templeton eyed the first page. “This letter is dated November thirtieth.”
Dawn nodded. “Yes. Lydia didn’t come home for Thanksgiving that year. I suppose that’s when all this was going on. You don’t know how many times I wish she had come home. Maybe I could have found out more about these young men she was dating. I wish I had. I wish I had asked for more details. But I was afraid if I pried, she’d pull away from me. She was trying so hard to be independent and make a life of her own.” Dawn put a hand to her mouth as a sob escaped her.
Templeton reached across Miranda and took Dawn’s other hand. “It’s all right, Ms. Sutherland. Don’t torture yourself. You couldn’t have known.”
“No, I don’t suppose I could have.”
Templeton got to her feet. “Do you mind if we take these letters back to the station? I’ll make copies and return them to you.”
“Of course. If you think it will help.”
Miranda rose and the three of them moved back through the entrance hall.
At the door Dawn turned to Templeton. “What about this Adam Tannenburg?”
“We’re trying to find him,” the detective said.
Miranda knew Templeton couldn’t bring herself to tell the grieving sister about the dead ends they’d been chasing or that they had reached the end of their rope.
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Just keep trying to remember anything Lydia might have said about either of these guys,” Templeton told her.
“I’ll do that.” Dawn opened the door and shook their hands warmly. “Thank you, Detective Templeton, Ms. Steele. I can’t tell you how much your dedication to my sister’s case means to me.”
“Just doing our job,” Miranda said.
But as the door shut and Miranda headed back toward the elevators with her partner, she realized she hadn’t felt this defeated since she started at the Agency.
Chapter Forty-Six
Disgusted and out of leads, Miranda returned to the Dungeon with Templeton.
The afternoon traffic had been a bitch and it had taken them over an hour to get back to the station. So long, by the time they got there it was time to go home. Instead they sat at the little metal desk staring at their laptop screens.
“No point in running another search,” Miranda said.
“Nope,” Templeton replied in monotone.
If Adam Tannenburg had switched IDs with the man at the Progressive Comfort nursing home, no telling what name he was going by now.
Miranda picked up one of the letters from Dawn Sutherland, scanned it again. It was mostly about school and Lydia’s job at the Pink Pajama. She’d called Dr. Bennett, her teac
her at the Art Institute, an old fuddy duddy.
Miranda smiled sadly at the comment and tossed the letter back on the desk.
Feeling as frustrated as a caged tiger she pressed her hands to her head and stretched back in the chair, her thick tangled hair dangling behind her. She thought of the interview with Dr. Bennett, who said Lydia wasn’t innovative. Of Maria Esposito, the neighbor, who told them about the slew of boyfriends Lydia had brought home. Of Hildie the waitress, who said Lydia and the blond guy were in love. Of Muriel Tannenburg’s stuffy neighbor, Mrs. Johnston. She thought of the lonely columns, the remains of the Tannenburg mansion, rotting in the weeds up in Evanston.
“That place—the old Tannenburg house.”
Templeton let out a long yawn. “What about it?”
“Seems like there should be something there.” Or was that just wishful thinking?
Before her partner could answer, footsteps rang out from the front of the room.
Miranda sat up and turned around in time to see Sergeant Demarco’s skinny frame appear at the far end of the shelving aisle.
He was alone.
“How’s it going?” he said as he reached the desk.
Templeton turned in her chair and sat, boxy shoulders back, in a soldier like pose. “Good, sir,” she told him.
Miranda didn’t contradict her. Neither of them wanted the sergeant to declare the case dead.
“Any breaks yet?”
Templeton gave a short, militaristic nod. “Yes, sir. We got a ping on an Adam Tannenburg in a nursing home up in Evanston.”
Demarco eyed her with strained curiosity at her sudden conformity. “Yeah?”
“Turned out it wasn’t him.”
Demarco took the toothpick out of his mouth and held it between his fingers as if debating whether to ask for details. After a moment, he said, “What’s your next move?”
Miranda picked up the Styrofoam cup on the table and peered down at the remains of yesterday’s coffee. Maybe she should go get more.
“Keep looking for him,” Templeton said.
Trial by Fire (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 6) Page 19
