Sin and Bone

by Debra Webb

  “I wasn’t sure you’d really come,” the man said without looking at Pierce or at her.

  “I’m here and I have what you asked for. You have my undivided attention, so speak.”

  “Richard is my friend,” said the man. He appeared to be in his early thirties. “We’ve been friends since I interned for him eight years ago. I’m worried about him.”

  Bella had done a great deal of digging into Richard Sutter. He had a medical degree but he had spent most of his career in high finance and in the development of cutting-edge medical technology. His friend was likely in one of those same fields if he’d interned for the man.

  “Why would you be worried about him?” Pierce asked. “And why would it be worth anything to me?”

  “Because I...” The younger man turned his face away for a moment. Then he said, “Trust me, you’ll find what I have to say worth your time and your money.”

  “Does his wife know about the two of you?”

  Bella cringed behind her sunglasses. Pierce should refrain from trying to piss the guy off until he said what he had to say.

  “Probably,” the guy confessed. “Richard and Mariah do their own thing. Their marriage is that way.”

  “Does that include sleeping with my late wife?”

  Pierce’s lips tightened on the words and Bella wondered if he was still in love with the woman he’d buried all those years ago. Her chest felt tight at the idea, which was ridiculous, but there it was.

  “Your wife—Cara—was planning to file for divorce.”

  Pierce’s attention cut to the other man. “How would you know this?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t, but Richard did. He told me there were things you didn’t know. Cara had a whole different life planned. She was only waiting for the right moment to tell you. She’d planned to do so while the two of you were in Binghamton visiting her family. Cara was not coming back to Chicago with you.”

  Tension simmered in waves from Pierce. Bella hoped he could keep it together to hear the guy out.

  “Richard believes I learned this information and tried to harm my wife, is that it?”

  Pierce’s words were laced with fury.

  “No.” The man shook his head. “He doesn’t think you had anything to do with her accident, but he’s reasonably sure he knows someone who does believe you were responsible.”

  “Who?”

  The single word was uttered so harshly that several people stared at them. Bella put a hand on his arm and gave it a squeeze.

  “He tried to warn you that something big was about to happen. He left you a note in your office. Richard knew you would never listen to him, so he left that ominous note in hopes you’d begin your own investigation before all this started.”

  “Give me the name,” Pierce demanded.

  The younger man shook his head. “I can’t. He wouldn’t tell me. He said he had to follow up and sort out a couple of things. That was three days ago. I haven’t heard from him since.”

  Pierce stared forward. “Then why are we here?”

  “Richard said if I didn’t hear from him within a certain period, I was to assume he was dead and to give you a message.”

  Bella’s heart bumped into a faster rate.

  “The only reason I asked for the money was so you’d know I had important information. I don’t want the money.”

  His statement was a definite surprise. But Bella wasn’t ready to cut him too much slack just yet.

  Pierce said, “I’m listening.”

  “Cara was planning a new life with a new partner. Part of that plan involved an address you should visit. You’ll understand then that everything you believed about your wife before she died was a lie.”

  53rd Street, Hyde Park, 6:15 p.m.

  THE ADDRESS THE unnamed man had provided was in the landmark Hyde Park Bank building on the penthouse floor.

  Bella’s associate from the agency, Traynor, had followed the self-proclaimed friend of Sutter’s from the zoo. The car he was driving was a rental.

  “Keep in mind,” she cautioned Devon as they rode the elevator to the penthouse floor, “the elaborate setup with Maynard. This could all be part of the ongoing smoke and mirrors. Even when we see what Sutter wants us to see here, we may not have anything but more lies.”

  Devon had considered as much. At this point, the only person he trusted was Bella.

  The doors opened into a large space with soaring ceilings and arched windows. The lobby was empty, of course. It was well after business hours. He was surprised the place wasn’t locked up tight. Upholstered chairs lined three walls. A table in the center of the room held magazines and brochures. Devon didn’t bother riffling through them. He walked straight to the reception desk and stared at the name on the brass plate. Dana Jordan. He didn’t recognize the name.

  “May I help you?”

  Devon looked up as the woman walked up behind the desk. She’d appeared from the wide cased opening that led into the dimly lit corridor beyond the lobby.

  Bella moved past him and extended her hand. She was still dressed in jeans and a tank but there was no help for that just now. They hadn’t wanted to take the time for her to change. “I’m Investigator Lytle and this is Dr. Devon Pierce,” she said. “We’re here to speak with you about a private matter that may be related to a string of homicides.”

  Bravo, Bella. Devon could see the older woman’s mind working even as worry claimed her face.

  “As you can see, we’re closed. The office is generally locked by this hour but I’m expecting a client who couldn’t come in during regular hours.” She glanced at her watch. “I have a few minutes. I’ll try to answer any questions you have. My name is Ursula Curtis. I’m the director here.” She gestured to the chairs. “Won’t you have a seat?”

  Bella held up one of the brochures from the table. “This is a private adoption agency.”

  If she had said this was Santa’s workshop Devon would not have been more stunned. There had been no sign on the door other than the suite number. The magazines on the table had been run-of-the-mill women’s magazines. But he hadn’t bothered with the brochures.

  Adoption agency.

  “Yes,” Ms. Curtis said. “We handle private adoptions for couples who are looking to start a family and for whatever reasons can’t or opt not to have biological children.”

  “Several years ago,” Devon said, his chest so tight he could scarcely speak, “my wife may have come to you about adoption.”

  Ms. Curtis looked at him, evidently picking up on his pain. “I’m afraid our records are private. Did you come with her?”

  “His wife is deceased,” Bella cut in. “There are two other deaths. We believe they may be connected. Any help you can give us would be most appreciated.”

  Ms. Curtis drew in a sharp breath as if she’d only just realized they were talking about murder. “Your wife’s name, sir?”

  “Cara Pierce.”

  “May I see your ID?”

  He showed the woman his driver’s license. It annoyed the hell out of him that his hand shook.

  “Let’s go to my office.”

  He followed Ms. Curtis and Bella into the corridor. He waffled between anger and shock. Had Cara wanted a child? She’d always told him she didn’t. He’d wanted children but he had acquiesced to her wishes.

  How could they have lived in the same household and there be so many secrets?

  In the director’s office, they sat in front of her desk while she searched through file cabinets. Bella put her hand on his arm and squeezed. He couldn’t look at her. What kind of man wasn’t aware of his wife’s most basic desires?

  “Cara Pierce.” Ms. Curtis withdrew a file and settled behind her desk. She opened the folder and unclipped the photo from the pages stacked neatly in the file.

  The photo w
as of Cara. He remembered that photo. He’d taken it the year before...she died.

  “She was looking for a girl baby. Under two years of age.” Ms. Curtis studied the photo. She smiled. “I remember her now. She said her husband was too busy to come but he’d told her exactly what he wanted—a little girl with blond hair and blue eyes just like her. Her friend agreed.”

  Devon blinked. “Her friend?”

  Ms. Curtis smiled. “Oh yes. She brought a friend. A woman, slightly older. Dark brown hair. The two seemed so excited. It was almost as if they were the ones looking to adopt.” She blushed. “It’s always nice to have supportive friends.”

  “What about personal information?” Bella asked. “What address did Mrs. Pierce provide?”

  Devon’s brain wouldn’t stop playing the words over and over. A little girl with blond hair and blue eyes...

  The address Ms. Curtis provided was not the Lake Bluff house. It was some eighty miles away in Ottawa. What the hell had Cara been doing? Had she already started a new life with someone else—someplace else—even before the accident that took her life?

  “Do you remember if the friend who was with Cara was this woman?”

  Devon pushed aside the tangle of questions in his brain and watched as Bella showed a photo on her cell phone to Ms. Curtis.

  “Why, yes. I believe that is the woman who was with her. They appeared to be very dear friends.”

  Bella showed the photo to Devon before putting it away.

  Mariah Sutter.

  Devon thanked Ms. Curtis for her help. He couldn’t get out of the building fast enough. He felt as if he were suffocating.

  Once on the sidewalk, Bella said, “We should confront Mariah with this news.”

  “Later. Right now I want to see the house where my wife was building her new life without bothering to tell me she was abandoning the old one.”

  Island Avenue, Ottawa, 8:30 p.m.

  IT WAS DARK when they arrived.

  Pierce had hardly said a word. Traynor had called. He’d followed the man from the zoo to an upscale loft downtown. He was watching the place until further notice. He’d also heard from Victoria’s contact. Jack Hayman had been out of the country for three months. To some degree, that put him in the clear.

  Bella parked a few houses away from their destination. The street and the houses weren’t what she’d expected. They were small and cute, more like her house, and not at all like the mansion Cara had shared with her husband.

  Pierce was already out of the car when she reached for a flashlight in the glove box. She climbed out and said, “We should be careful. The place could belong to someone else now.”

  He nodded with only a glance in her direction as they walked toward the small white house.

  A white picket fence surrounded the house. Pierce opened the gate, the creak sounding far louder in the darkness. There was a streetlight but it was half a block away. White clapboard siding, pale green shutters and a redbrick chimney made up the exterior of the small, two-story cottage. There wasn’t really a front porch, more a small stoop. The house was dark inside.

  She took Devon’s hand and led him around the backyard with nothing but the moonlight to guide them. The narrow backyard backed up to the river. A small seawall and an iron fence separated the two. French doors on the back patio overlooked the water. A small table and two chairs sat in the center of the patio facing a homemade fire pit. It was too dark to tell if it had been used recently without turning on the flashlight.

  Devon checked the French doors and they were locked.

  Bella turned to the man whose whole world was suddenly on its ear. “We have two choices here. We can go back to Chicago and look into the owner of this property tomorrow when the offices we need to call are open for business.” She took a deep breath. “Or we can break the law and go in and see what we find. I don’t advise the latter. Any evidence we find would be rendered useless.”

  They were already in enough trouble for entering Mrs. Harper’s home. Considering Pierce was a doctor and the possibility that Harper was gravely injured allowed for exigent circumstances. Not the optimal situation, but justifiable. This time was different. There was absolutely nothing here to show exigent circumstances any more than there had been at the bungalow that belonged to Maynard’s friend.

  “I’m going in.” He reached for a chair.

  She grabbed his arm. “Wait a minute. Let’s see if there’s an unlocked window or a hidden key before we go busting up the place.” She pointed to the top of the door. “Check that ledge. Under the welcome mat and under anything else that isn’t nailed down.”

  Bella moved from window to window. All locked or painted shut. “Damn it,” she muttered.

  “Found it.”

  She turned to see Devon putting a flowerpot back in place. The idea that a flower with fresh blooms was growing in the pot warned that the place hadn’t been deserted for any length of time. If someone was home or arrived before they were out of here, they would have a hell of a lot of explaining to do.

  With those concerns ringing in her ears, she joined him at the door as he opened it and then pocketed the key. Bella reached for a wall switch and gave it a flip. A four-arm chandelier that had once been brass but had been painted white glowed to life. Streaks of gold showed behind the white, giving the metal a worn look. It hung over a table with four chairs. The table too had been whitewashed.

  The kitchen and dining area overlooked the backyard and the water. The cabinets and counters were white. Small colorful touches of fuchsia, lavender and gray were scattered about. Vintage dishes and well-used cookware were stored in the cabinets along with a few canned and dry goods.

  Beyond the dining side of the room was a wide cased opening that led into the living room. The fireplace was small, the brick painted white, though glimmers of the red brick still showed through.

  A love seat and a couple of chairs were flanked by tables. None of the pieces were new or matched. The decor was very bohemian. Sheer, gauzy curtains in a crisp white hung on the windows.

  There were no photographs anywhere. Devon moved about the room, studying decorative objects. A small wooden bird that had been painted yellow. A white ceramic dish filled with individually wrapped mints. He picked one up.

  “These were her favorites. Whenever we had a party, she insisted on having a bowl of these mints.”

  “Let’s have a look upstairs.” Bella waited for him to follow.

  They climbed the stairs and found two bedrooms and one bath. The first bedroom they encountered had no furniture and was painted a soft pink. White ruffled curtains hung on the windows. The next one had a standard bed with dozens of pillows atop it, with mismatched tables on either side and a long ottoman stretching across the foot of the bed.

  A rock sat on one of the bedside tables. The word happiness had been engraved into it.

  A creak drew her attention around. He had opened the closet door. He pulled on the string and the bare bulb overhead in the small closet turned on.

  He touched a silky blouse, then a soft T-shirt. “These are Cara’s.”

  A pair of sneakers lay on the floor of the closet along with an overnight bag. Bella pulled the bag out of the closet and sat down on the ottoman to see what was inside. Underthings, flip-flops and a couple more T-shirts. Bella unzipped the back pocket and found documents. She pulled them from the bag.

  Petition for Dissolution of Marriage.

  The divorce papers were unsigned.

  Devon took the papers from her and flipped through them. The man in the ball cap had been right. Cara Pierce had been in the process of building a whole new life.

  Without her husband.

  “We should drive back to the city and talk to Mariah again.” Bella stood and set the overnight bag aside. “There’s nothing else to be learned here.”

  Pierce han
ded the pages back to her and she put them away. She didn’t bother putting the bag back into the closet.

  Bella followed him across the room to the door of the en suite bath. He stood at the sink. Surveyed the array of items scattered about. A jar of moisturizer, an expensive-looking bottle of perfume. A brush. A towel covered in pink and red roses hung over the shower rod that circled the claw-foot tub.

  He turned back to the door, his face impassive. “You’re right. There’s nothing here anymore that matters.”

  Cara would never be coming back here.

  Bella stalled at the bottom of the stairs. She moved aside and waited until Devon had joined her in the living room.

  “Look around.” She crossed to the coffee table and swiped her fingers across it. “Spotless.”

  She walked into the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator. Two bottles of wine. Cheese and grapes. The grapes were fresh. She checked the date on the cheese. “This expiration date is months away.” She closed the door and looked at Pierce. “Someone has been here recently.”

  Someone who had kept every little thing exactly as it was before Cara died.

  Chapter Eleven

  Clark Street, Chicago, 11:00 p.m.

  Mariah answered the door despite the lateness of the hour.

  She smiled at Devon. “It’s not a good idea to visit a woman when she’s so deep into a bottle of wine and at home all alone.”

  Bella suspected the alone part had been thrown in because of the wine.

  “It is late,” he agreed, “but it would mean a great deal to me if you could give us a few more minutes of your time.”

  The older woman’s eyebrows rose ever so slightly. “Is that humility I hear in the great Dr. Pierce’s voice?”

  Oh yes, she was definitely feeling the wine. “It’s very important,” Bella put in, hoping to prevent the frustration that claimed Devon’s face from making a louder appearance. “We’ve discovered new details you may be able to shed some light upon.”