“That’s the problem, of course. No one really knows exactly what happened that day.”
“Where were you when Ashlee took the boat? And wasn’t taking off with the Faire Taire . . . well, stealing?”
Silva carefully emptied his pipe into a nearby container, then looked Tucker over from head to toe. “You’re asking a lot of questions for just being an artist.”
“Piper asked me to look into her daughter’s disappearance, that’s all.”
“Did she now? Well then, ’bout time.”
What does that mean? He held his tongue, hoping Silva would elaborate. The captain reloaded his pipe, tamped down the tobacco, then lit it. After a few puffs, he said, “Ashlee was a family member—at least he was then—so it wasn’t stealing. As for what I was doing, not that it’s any of your business, but if Piper asked for your help . . . Well, I was visiting Joyce Mueller. She was a friend of mine.”
“Was?”
“After Dove’s disappearance, Joyce stopped coming to the island. At least for a few years. She made no effort to contact me, so I figured she’d just . . . moved on. Got me a lady friend now, so I guess I moved on as well.”
“When exactly did Joyce leave the island? Was it sudden?”
“Nah. She’d been planning on heading back to Wisconsin for a couple days. That’s where she was from, you know. All packed up. I think she was selling her practice or her house or something. Papers to sign, all that.”
“So nothing unusual that day? No reason . . . ?”
“I suspect if I hadn’t stopped by, she would have been gone sooner.”
“Joyce is missing. Where do you think she’s gone to now?”
“Like I said, we’ve moved on. She always did whatever she pleased. Not to be rude, Mr. Tucker, but I have things on the boat to attend to, so if you’ll excuse me.” He didn’t wait for an answer but ambled into the boat.
Tucker turned and hobbled back to the house. So the only three on the island the day Dove died were Piper, Joyce, and Silva. Joyce was Silva’s alibi. And Joyce was missing.
* * *
I stood in front of the rock cairn running Dove’s amber teething necklace between my fingers. No one would let me see what was left of my daughter after they found her. She was initially identified by the necklace. I’d opted to have Dove cremated and placed aboveground in a cremains niche wall. I wanted to be sure no water would seep into her coffin. I had flowers delivered there once a week. Daisies. Her favorite.
It didn’t take long to clean up the driftwood debris and restore the stones.
The breeze picked up and the waves grew a bit higher. I headed for the boat before it started to rain and the water got too rough. Fortunately the waves were not as bad on the leeward side of the island, and I made it to our dock in good time.
The Taire was moored but Silva was out of sight. Lieutenant Gragg’s official boat was still tied up. Apparently interviews were still going on. I returned the boat keys to the storage shed and trotted up to the house.
Mildred clattered around in the kitchen, pausing long enough to wave to me.
“Gragg still interviewing people?” I asked.
“I think he’s about done. He’s been invited to lunch if you need to talk to him.”
“Thanks. Do you need help?”
“Joel’s here. And more help is coming later today.”
I aimed for my room. I needed to see what Tucker had come up with for a drawing, but I knew I’d turn some shade of unpleasant orangey red. “Stop it, you fool!” I whispered. “What are you? Twelve? It was just a kiss. You know your face gives away your every thought. You must have given him a look that you wanted to be kissed.”
So how to keep that look off my face? Assuming I didn’t want to be kissed again.
* * *
Tucker left his door open a crack to listen for Piper’s return. He owed her an apology. She could ask him to leave, and that would be the end of all this, but at least he could give her all he’d uncovered. In the meantime, he’d added Silva’s information to his link analysis program. He also added a list of questions that the new information had raised. He really needed to see what the police had uncovered in the initial investigation and look for undeveloped leads or evidence.
The ocean breeze had freshened, increasing the scent of rain. He checked the windows, started to close them, then left the one next to the desk open. The gray day matched his mood, and the wind added to his restlessness. His work with Clan Firinn kept him busy and gave structure to his life. His faith gave him meaning. Piper had brought him a challenge.
Someone tapped on his door. He opened it. “‘Hello, gorgeous.’”
“Funny Girl, 1968.” Piper grinned and entered. “‘Snap out of it!’”
“Moonstruck, 1985?”
“1987.”
He let out a deep breath. She didn’t appear to be angry with him. “Look, I’m sorry—”
“For what? Kissing me?”
“No. I wanted to kiss you. I’m sorry if that bothered you or made you uncomfortable.”
Her face flushed slightly. “Can we just move slowly?”
“Yes.” He sucked in a deep breath and made an effort to control his erratic breathing. Reaching into his pocket, he squeezed one of the stones.
“Then for now, just forget about it. Did you get a chance to work on the age-progression drawing?”
He nodded to his left.
She advanced to the desk, her steps getting slower as she drew closer. Finally she stopped and gasped.
Parents, when presented with the age-progressed drawing of a child who’d passed, usually broke down with sobs dredged from the innermost corner of their soul.
Piper spun, her face white. “Dove! Hannah is Dove! She isn’t dead! She lived—somehow she lived!” She snatched up the drawing, then charged for the door.
Tucker caught her arm. “Wait, Piper—”
“You can see it, can’t you?” She shoved the sketch at his face. “Your age-progressed drawing of Dove is the spitting image of Hannah.”
“It does look like her.” He eased the hand holding the drawing away. “I suspect I had a bit of mental contamination from seeing Hannah’s face and unconsciously merged her image into the drawing. Forensic artists try to be aware of that possibility, but it happens.”
“No! It’s her! What about the dog?” She shook off his restraining arm. “What about Nana?”
“What?”
Piper’s face was white and she was huffing as if she’d just run a marathon. “Hannah identified Nana as a black female Newfie, just like the dog we had when Dove was a little girl. How could Hannah possibly know that?”
“Joyce could have told her.”
“But I feel something for Hannah. I feel close to her. I’ve never felt like that . . . since . . .”
“I like Hannah as well, but think about it, Piper. A second three-year-old girl drowns at exactly the same time as Dove, washes ashore here, and no one ever reports a second girl as missing or lost?”
“But—”
“And this second girl just happens to be wearing the same necklace?”
She grabbed the necklace and held on. “But—”
“What about her age? Hannah is a year younger than Dove would have been.”
Piper shook her head. “A mistake . . .”
“I’d bet they ran DNA on the body.”
She became very still.
“Did they gather DNA from you for comparison?”
Slowly she nodded. “The police came and asked for something from her, like her toothbrush or hairbrush. They took the hairbrush.”
“And?”
“A match,” she whispered.
Abruptly the heavens opened in a torrent of rain, splashing against the open window.
He moved to the window and slid it shut. When he turned to look at Piper, she was staring at the drawing. “I don’t know how, I don’t care why, but I know, absolutely in my heart, that Hannah is Dove.” She started
for the door.
“Wait. Where are you going?”
Piper paused, one hand on the door. “To see her, to tell Hannah who she really is.”
“Think about that, Piper. If what you believe is true, Hannah has lived a lie her whole life. The person she loves the most in this world is Joyce, and you’d be saying Joyce wasn’t her grandmother. In fact, Joyce has deceived her. She’ll be confused and scared, and she’ll hate you for it.”
She let go of the knob. “Not if I explain it right.”
“There’s no way to explain it that won’t seem like fiction. And you need to consider one very important factor.”
“What’s that?”
“If, and that’s a very important if, somehow, some way, Hannah is your daughter”—he moved closer—“then someone, or a group of someones, has gone to a great deal of trouble to hide that fact. And they’ve done an excellent job of it for fifteen years. I suspect whoever is involved will go to great lengths to keep it a secret.”
“What should I do?” He expected to see her eyes glittering with tears, but she was flinty-eyed, her jaw set in determination.
The rain tapped against the glass and wind tossed the palmetto fronds.
He knew he couldn’t talk Piper out of her conviction that Hannah was Dove, but maybe he could direct her toward logical, rational reasoning. And caution. “You don’t want to put Hannah in danger, or yourself. How many people know she’s here?”
“As far as I know, just you, me, and Officer Chou.”
“Who’s Officer Chou?”
“Mandy Chou, marine patrol. She was looking into Joyce’s disappearance.”
“Let’s keep it between just us.”
Piper moved away from the door. A blast of wind sent rain against the window, rapping the glass with a persistent drumming. “Joyce called me a couple of days ago. Mildred said Joyce sounded scared. Maybe Joyce wanted to talk to me about Hannah. Maybe that’s what happened to her.” Her eyes opened wider. “Oh my gosh! I took Hannah to Joyce’s house. That’s where Joyce disappeared. I’ve put Hannah in danger!” She turned toward the door.
“Wait. If only the three of us know she’s even here, she should be fine for now. No one is going to go anywhere in this storm. But I agree we need to move Hannah someplace safe, at least until we can find out more information.”
Piper nodded.
“Lieutenant Gragg is still here. He would have computer access to the original report. Shall we go find him?” He didn’t wait for her response but headed out the door and toward the study.
Gragg was standing over the desk tapping papers into order. He looked up as they entered. “Tucker, Miss Piper, how can I help you? Did either of you two remember something?”
“No,” Piper said. “I’m here about the police report. About Dove. Could I see it?”
Gragg sat. “I’d need access to a computer—”
“Behind you.” Piper opened a door in the pale aqua–stained cabinet and pulled out an iMac. In a moment she’d logged on, then stepped away to give Gragg access.
Gragg rolled his chair over, typed for a few moments, then stood and moved away. “Here’s the narrative.”
Piper sat. Only the tapping rain broke the silence. Finally she looked at him. “You were the first officer on the scene. You were involved from the first day.”
“I was on patrol and answered the 911 call.”
Piper rose. “Tucker?”
He took her place and rapidly scanned the report. “The call came from a passing boater?”
“Yes.” Gragg took one of the leather chairs. “They saw someone lying next to the boathouse on Marion Inlet and called it in. You couldn’t see Mr. Yates from the land side.”
“Did you eventually learn what knocked him out?” Piper asked.
“An oar with blood on it was recovered. He was dragged behind the shed and tied up with duct tape, so they came prepared. They put duct tape across his mouth as well.”
“They? Did you think more than one person was involved?” Tucker asked.
“That’s a possibility. This was a daring theft, and someone had to be ready to conceal the boat until changes could be made to alter its appearance. Organized boat theft rings will target a specific boat, but they usually like to work at night. We also couldn’t rule out a crime of opportunity. Silva’s a big, powerful man who lived on the boat and was known to be armed. But the boat was docked by Ashlee, so if someone was watching for a chance, well . . .” He shrugged. “No other signs of foul play. We searched for over a week, sent out BOLOs—be on the lookout—all up and down the Eastern Seaboard, but the boat simply vanished. The only thing we recovered was, as you know, your daughter’s body and maybe the dinghy.”
“Maybe the dinghy?” Piper asked.
“We couldn’t get a positive identification. The dinghy on the Faire Taire was an inflatable type, as was the one we found. The recovered dinghy had the air out of it and had washed up a couple of days after the boat went missing.”
“The DNA report?” Piper asked. “Could there have been a mistake?”
Lieutenant Gragg indicated the computer. “Give me a moment and I can look it up.”
Tucker relinquished his chair and Gragg sat. While he typed on the keyboard, he said, “I remember someone bringing a hairbrush . . . Here it is.” He leaned backward so they could see the screen.
A hairbrush with a green animal adorning its handle rested in a clear plastic evidence bag. Next to it was the chain-of-custody form.
“What’s that?” She pointed to the form.
“From the time the evidence is collected by police, everyone who touches, analyzes, or controls that piece of evidence has to sign for it. That way there’s never any doubt that the same piece of evidence collected is the one analyzed and, if it ends up in court, is the one presented. Do you recognize the brush?”
“Her sea turtle brush.” Piper straightened.
“You recognize it?” Gragg asked.
“Yes. I had it made for her. She loved sea turtles. It was one-of-a-kind.” She glanced at Tucker. He expected to see a look of resignation, but her eyes had the same glint of determination.
“Do you have a list of who you interviewed and the time line for everybody?” Tucker asked.
Gragg raised one eyebrow. “Sounds like you suspect someone in the family was involved.”
“Perhaps someone near the family. It just seems strange that the one time Ashlee pilots the boat by himself to the mainland, someone just happens to be waiting for him. That’s all.” Tucker leaned back in the chair. “I’d also be curious if you found anyone with motive, someone needing money, for example.”
Gragg chewed his lip for a moment. “It’s been fifteen years . . .”
Tucker took a deep breath. “Let me guess. You discovered no one had an alibi, and everyone had a motive.”
Chapter 17
I was lucky to be sitting. Gragg didn’t deny Tucker’s statement.
“What do you mean, no one had an alibi and everyone had a motive?” I asked.
Gragg leaned over the computer and turned it off. “I’ve said enough, really. Rest assured that our cold-case officer is working on it. I’ve already given you what you wanted to see, which was the initial police reports.”
I gripped the chair. “But—”
“I need to get back to the mainland. You have my number should you think of anything else to add on the café shooter, James Vincent Cave.” He started to leave but paused. “I won’t be staying for lunch. If I don’t see him first, please thank Tern for the offer.” He left.
A gust of wind sent a flurry of rain against the window.
“What now?” I asked.
“Now it’s time to do some digging. I’ll start here on this computer. You mentioned you have a media room.”
I blinked. “Ah, yes, but—”
“But what does that have to do with anything?” He smiled at me and I took a quick breath. “Is it just for television and movies, or d
o you have family videos?”
“There are older family videos.”
“Perfect. I need you to go through them and watch for anything . . . out of the ordinary.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. There may be nothing.”
I stood. “Do you honestly believe a member of my family did this?”
“I don’t know that either, but we have to start somewhere.”
Leaving the study, I passed the game room. Joel lay under the air hockey table, tool kit open on the floor beside him as he repaired something. Tern and Mother were in the living room deep in conversation. I overheard, “My campaign manager called a bit ago.”
“Oh,” Mother said. “And?”
“He confirmed that the café shooting boosted my approval with the sympathy vote.”
“I told you it would. Now, back to the wetlands proposal. If we amend it to read ‘not to exceed’ and add the words ‘fiscal year’ . . .”
Sympathy vote? I thought about interrupting and reminding them it was a mass murder. Of course, they’d just look at me with their usual bland expressions. The media room was next to the kitchen. Mildred was stirring something on the stove. “Where’s Ashlee?” I asked.
“Did you want to see him or avoid him?”
“Avoid.”
“He should be working out in the gym.”
The gym was across the hall from the media room. Hopefully the door would be shut. “Thanks.”
The door was open, but Ashlee seemed intent on watching himself lift free weights, and I was able to slip into the media room and lock the door without notice. Two rows of black leather sofas with built-in drink holders rose in tiers in front of a big television screen. Behind one wall was a library of home movies, most of which had been converted to DVDs. The bulk of the DVDs were arranged by date and had been recorded prior to Father’s passing, but I found one dated the July after his accident. That was the year I married Ashlee, the year I became pregnant with Dove.
I put it in the player. A football game between Carolina and Clemson came on. Rats. Someone had taped over the original video. I hit fast-forward. More game. I was about to shut it off when a brief scene appeared at the end. I stopped the DVD and backed up.
Relative Silence Page 14
