I certainly couldn’t imagine a need to be involved in a high-speed chase on a lonely, dark road in the middle of the night. Not with a lawyer and not on these two cases. It just didn’t fit.
What was my beef with lawyers anyway, especially since I was married to one?
“We’re in the White Collar Crime Squad?” I asked with my eyes still stuck on the phone.
“Used to be in Violent Crimes, but it was time for a change. We now work both the White Collar and newly formed Art Theft squads. Jerry oversees both squads.”
The Impala’s brakes squeaked to a stop in front of a mammoth home surrounded by trees and at least a half-acre of land.
“Beverly Farms. One of the nicer areas in Greater Boston.”
I hopped out and paused at the sidewalk to take in the whole scene. A Queen Anne Victorian home, white with black shutters, a wraparound porch, and lots of chimneys.
“Now this is an estate worth talking about,” Nick said, swishing by me.
“You got a million bucks?”
Just then the front door opened and a few people poured out, pausing to say goodbye and to hug. All of them appeared to be wiping tears.
“This won’t be easy,” Nick muttered under his breath as we both stood like soldiers at the bottom step.
A man and woman, along with two kids, waved one final time to the person at the front door and then walked past us, offering strained, polite smiles.
“You can come on up.” A woman with her hair in a bun stood at the door, wiping mascara from under one eye.
Our shoes clapped against the wooden steps and porch.
“I’m Special Agent Radowski, and this is Special Agent Giordano.” We held up our badges. She paid no attention, but reached out and grabbed my arm.
“You’ve got to help me.”
“What can we do for you?” I tried to steady myself in case she dropped all her weight on me, although even in baggy jeans and a beige sweater, it was easy to see her curves carried no extra meat.
“There’s a mob of people in my house, and I just—” She stopped, bringing a finger to her eyelashes.
Are those real?
“I just can’t deal with all the fake pity.”
“Mrs. Barden, I’m sure they genuinely care about the grief you’re going through.”
“Bullshit!”
I flinched, then shifted my eyes to Nick.
She squeezed my arm harder. “You don’t understand!”
“It’s okay, Mrs. Barden. Let’s just go in, get you some water, sit down in a quiet place, and talk through everything.”
Her chest heaved as tears bubbled in her eyes. She swiped her hand across her face, smearing the mascara. I would try to take care of that for her once she calmed down. I put my hand on her shoulder.
“Okay. I guess. First, we have to wade through all the crap,” she said, stepping inside.
I first noticed flames in an enormous fireplace on the left side of the living room. Two women with sad eyes warmed their hands.
A quick glance around, and I saw nothing but money inside a grand, old home. High ceilings, intricate crown molding, French doors leading into a dining room, hand-scraped hardwood floors as far as the eye could see. I guessed the house dated back to the early 1900s, maybe earlier. Beautiful paintings that depicted scenes from the Revolution dotted the walls, including a library off to the right, where I also found a globe. She must have seen me look in that direction.
“Christopher always dreamed of us traveling the world as a family. We talked about it constantly. And then Dana was born, and everything changed.”
Tears flooded her face, but before I could take a breath, she was swarmed by four, five, six people, all offering to help, pawing at her like she was meat.
Her frustration was starting to make a little bit more sense. Nick and I stood in the entry, albeit somewhat awkwardly, waiting to see when—or if—Mrs. Barden would be able to break free.
A little girl then waddled into the room and tugged on her mother’s jeans. Mrs. Barden picked her up and gave her a kiss on the cheek. The little girl responded by hugging her neck. A few smiles lit up the room, and then someone yelled from the back of the house, “Hot breakfast for everyone and special pancakes for Dana.”
The little girl ran off, and the crowd followed. Mrs. Barden shuffled a few steps behind everyone for a moment, then cut back to us.
“I’m sorry. I tried being direct earlier, but they just thought I was losing it. So I’ve had to use alternative methods to have a little bit of ‘me time.’ Time to grieve.”
She pressed her eyes shut. Her features were pleasant, her skin smooth and blemish-free. Even on what she might describe as her worst day, she looked damn good, although I knew her heart was broken.
“We can sit in here for at least a few minutes,” she said, walking into the library, “until they hunt me down again.” She gave us a forced smile. Folding her legs under her, she parked her body on the couch, her arms crossed like she might be cold.
“Do you want me to run to the kitchen and get you something to drink?” I asked.
She sat up quickly. “Please no. They’ll realize I haven’t joined the crowd, and I’ll never get any peace. And with so many people here, they’re at least watching over the kids. Finally, a break.”
I crossed my legs.
“I’m rude. Would you like something to drink?”
“We’re just fine, thank you,” Nick said, glancing at me for a second then back to the wife of the deceased.
“I’m sorry we have to bother you at a time like this,” I said. “We know the last day has been very difficult for you.”
A single nod. “I’ll do anything to find the person who murdered my husband, the father to our two young girls.” She brought a hand to her face.
I spotted a box of tissues. I lifted from my seat and instantly felt dizzy. I grabbed the side of the couch, hoping neither Nick nor Mrs. Barden noticed, and I reached for the tissues, then swung around and set the box on the couch.
“Thank you.” She released a choppy breath as she plucked a tissue and brought it to her face.
“Mrs. Barden, can you—”
“It’s Agatha. Christopher’s mother is the only Mrs. Barden I know.”
“Very well, Agatha. I checked with the local police department, and they’ve had no reports of any calls from your home. Has anyone threatened you or your husband?”
“Actually, yes. And he’s in our home at this very moment.”
Nick and I both inched higher in our matching royal-blue Queen Anne chairs.
“Excuse me?” Nick said, turning his head slightly.
“On top of everyone invading my house, I have to deal with that asshole. He’s nothing more than a Benedict Arnold.” She pointed a finger at Nick and said, “That’s who you should be investigating.”
“Is anyone in imminent danger? If so, we can dispatch backup, and I can pull him aside,” Nick said.
His sports coat flapped open, and I could see his holstered Glock. I felt naked.
“No, no, no. He wouldn’t have the balls to do anything now. He got what he wanted, even if he didn’t do it,” Agatha said, her chocolate eyes glistening as she looked to the corner of the stately room.
“We need more information, Agatha. Did this person threaten your husband?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Most recently at the company Christmas party. What they called an ‘end-of-year celebration.’ Political correctness and all.”
“And what happened?” I asked, taking the lead in questioning. It felt natural.
“Trent got drunk as hell. What’s new? And he started getting belligerent, his typical MO,” she said.
“Trent?”
“Trent Kapler. He’s a peer of Christopher’s at Transamerica Financial. Stabbed Christopher in the back on repeated occasions, then he accused Christopher of all sorts of crazy crap.”
“Let’s take it a piece at a time. The Christmas, I
mean, end-of-year celebration. What happened?”
“Trent, ever the show-off, had to get on the dance floor and pretend he was putting on a strip show, courtesy of downing about ten gin and tonics. Christopher said something to him, told him to stop embarrassing himself, his wife, and the firm. That just set him off.”
“This is Trent you’re talking about?”
“Who else? I think he’s on steroids too. He went ballistic, and a bunch of guys had to hold him back. Someone actually said they needed to call the zoo so they could rush over and shoot a sedative into the asshole, just like they do elephants who need to be put under for surgery.”
“Anything else go on at the party?”
“That little shit tried to act like he’d calmed down, even said he wanted to apologize. When he went to shake Christopher’s hand, he took a swing at him, said he’d kill him if he had the chance. Knocked out a tooth.”
I rested my elbows on my knees. “If Trent is that volatile, why is he in your house?”
“Two reasons. One, he admitted himself to alcohol rehab. Supposedly, he’s clean. Second, his wife is my sister.”
Nick and I exchanged a quick glance.
“Everything calm since they’ve been here?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, picking apart her tissue. “Maybe I am being a little emotional.”
“I understand, but I’m glad you shared this with us. You mentioned other confrontations between Christopher and Trent?”
“I never witnessed anything, just heard about them. Christopher mentored Trent for two years. Two years! Brought him in as an intern and helped him become a certified financial planner, really showed him the ropes. Trent got promotion after promotion, but never acknowledged what Christopher had done for him. And from what Christopher said, Trent even started spreading really wicked rumors around the office about him.”
Nick gave me a strained look, as if he felt uncomfortable delving deeper into family drama. I had enough of my own, but this was an area we couldn’t overlook.
“Can you share those rumors with us?”
Pressing her lips together, she pulled another tissue and dotted the corners of her eyes. It seemed like she had some difficulty in sharing this information.
“You’ve got to realize I love my husband. He is…was the best to me, my little girls.”
I nodded.
“Trent…” She swallowed back more tears and looked me in the eyes. “Trent claimed that Christopher was screwing around on me.” She blew out a breath. “Can you believe such an outlandish thought?”
An underwater image of the floating wedding rings came to mind. I glanced at her hands, but they were now folded under a crossed leg. I knew Nick had digital images to show her, but I wondered about her mental frame of mind. Would she come completely unglued?
“Agatha, I don’t want to imply anything one way or the other. As Special Agent Radowski said, we need to gather all pertinent information, even if it’s a rumor or a result of a family dispute of some kind.”
“What else do you want to know?”
“Did Trent mention any names?”
I knew we could ask him ourselves—and we would—but I wanted to hear what she had to say first, and then compare the information.
“I tried to forget.” Her moist eyes met mine for a brief second. “But I couldn’t. And it impacted our marriage. I didn’t cherish every moment.”
I leaned over and put my hand on her leg. “It’s okay to share with us.”
“Kelsey,” she said, biting her bottom lip and turning away just slightly. Nick jotted down the name on his pocket notepad.
“Thank you. I—”
“And there was Angela and Maureen too.”
I ceased movement for a second. Her tone sounded more like it was fact than rumor. And now there were multiple girls. I kept my face void of emotion.
“Just so we have your statement, you’re not aware of Christopher receiving any other threats, beside the one from Trent?” I asked.
She narrowed her eyes, and they appeared less soft. “What are you inferring?”
“Just capturing all the facts, Agatha,” Nick said.
“Are you wondering if one of the women he might have interacted with killed him?”
Shifting my eyes to Nick for a moment, I decided to press a bit further. “I’m not implying anything, but do you know any of the women you mentioned?”
She pulled out another tissue, and then her eyes drifted away.
“Agatha?”
“Only from a distance. At the end-of-year party. They were huddled together. But Christopher was a good-looking guy, and we have a little money. People always sought him out. Came with the job.”
“His job?”
“Mine. The job of being married to him.”
We were interrupted by the sound of tiny knuckles wrapping against the glass of the French doors, and then the little girl came in.
“Hi there,” I said, holding out my hand.
The girl, Dana, climbed into Agatha’s lap and sucked on her thumb. “She has Down syndrome. Doing well, all in all, but it’s been difficult since she was born. We have a four-month-old, Lindsey. She’s napping upstairs, unless her grandmother has decided it’s more important to interrupt her routine just so she can have a moment and rock her in the family rocking chair.”
It sounded like a herd of cattle was on its way down the hall, and Nick quickly turned the conversation in a different direction.
“Have you seen anyone on your property or in the neighborhood that you didn’t recognize?”
Dana jostled in her lap, but Agatha didn’t seem fazed. “It’s a pretty boring place. Honestly, if you’re looking for possible suspects…”
“Momma, Momma,” Dana said, hugging her neck.
“It’s okay, honey.” She kissed her little girl, but kept her eyes on us. “A few of the people Christopher worked with were absolute vultures.”
“Is Trent included in that category?” Nick asked.
“Trent’s more of a back-stabbing—” She stopped there, apparently not wanting her daughter to hear her cursing. “It’s not just people at the firm. He was involved in deals all over the world. And they threw out threats on a routine basis.”
“They threatened bodily harm?” I asked.
“They were too smart for that. But they implied a lot of things if deals went south.”
I made a mental note that we would need full access to Christopher’s client list, his itinerary from the last year, and colleagues he worked closely with, including the full names of the three ladies Agatha had mentioned. They would be at the top of our interview list, as well as any of their current love interests. The only thing worse than a woman scorned was her overprotective ex-boyfriend ready to gut any guy who looked at her.
The doors spilled open, and the room filled up with people of all ages, noise bouncing off the hardwoods, everyone oblivious to our private conversation. Agatha gave us one of those help me looks, but she was soon ferried away.
“Can you tell me which one is Trent?” I asked a gray-haired lady wearing sweats with JUICY written on the ass.
She told us he’d stepped out on the back porch to have a smoke. Nick and I wove through the house and into the kitchen, where we saw Agatha practically pinned against the wall by four women who were pinging her with questions. Their eyes followed each step we took, which helped me understand the nature of the gossip.
Stepping onto the porch, I could only see Trent’s back. He flipped around with his head cocked to the side, puffing out three donuts of smoke.
“Nice trick,” I said.
“Eh. I’ve been smoking since I was in high school. It’s natural.”
“Mind if we ask you some questions?”
Nick and I pulled out the credentials.
“I know who you are.” His accent was classic Boston.
With all of us standing, Nick and I queried him for fifteen minutes straight. Trent went through three more ci
garettes. But those questions were only softballs. I was ready to throw a ninety-five-mile-an-hour heater right under his chin.
“Is it true that you threatened to kill Christopher a few weeks ago?”
“It was stupid. I was stupid.” He rocked from one foot to the other.
“Murder typically is stupid.”
He hopped back a step, his eyes wide with either fear or astonishment. I couldn’t tell for sure which one it was.
“Who says I murdered anyone?”
“We can only go where the evidence takes us,” I said, waving smoke away from my face. “And right now, the only evidence we’ve got is about two hundred people hearing you threaten a man’s life. Now he’s dead. What are we supposed to think?”
I’d fudged on the evidence, wanting him to think we were solely focused on one path to find the killer.
“I was drunk. I said shit that I should never have said.” He raised his chin, looking beyond us into the kitchen.
“How long you been sober?”
“Eighteen days, seven hours, and…twenty-three minutes.” He chuckled, then looked out across the back yard. “Never thought I’d count the minutes of my life like that.”
I let him contemplate his life for a moment.
“Trent, we need to clarify a couple of things, and then we’ll leave you alone.”
“Shoot.”
“You’ve reportedly mentioned three names that Christopher had supposedly…” I chose to leave out the verb. “Kelsey, Angela, and Maureen. First of all, any truth to the rumors?”
“I never saw anything with my own two eyes, but I’m almost certain. Angela had been looking to sleep her way to the top.”
This guy sounded like he pegged women in one of two categories—those who slept their way into whatever situation they sought, and those who were about to.
“And you would know this because…”
He craned his neck over my head, maybe looking for his wife.
“Because she first tried me.”
“And because you’ve got this strong moral fiber, you withheld her advances. How gallant of you.”
Nick nudged my arm.
“Look, I’m no saint, but my vice is beer and booze. Not women. I knew I hit pay dirt with Nora. I’m damn lucky she’s in my life.” His eyes became glassy, and he bit his lip. “That’s why I…”
The Alex Troutt Thrillers: Books 1-3 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set) Page 11
