Buried Secrets: PAVAD: FBI Case File #0005 (PAVAD: FBI Case Files)

by Calle J. Brookes

  “So it’s likely he doesn’t have the long-term memory capacity? Could he even make a reliable witness? TBI range in severity and after-effects, after all. It’s all a crapshoot.”

  “He doesn’t have that kind of short-term capacity, I believe. Something he said, I think. About not remembering recent things so good. Right before he said he’d call Olivia and find out. Which is why it was so difficult for him to give us Pauline’s alias without asking his daughter Honey-Olivia. What do you want to bet she’s on speed dial?”

  She’d moved on to the raisins next. She had a sweet tooth, apparently. Knight filed that away in his mental folder dedicated entirely to her.

  He’d never forget how she’d looked eating stale chocolate.

  “So he doesn’t have to remember her number. It makes sense. If Luther can’t help us find his kids, we’ll use other ways. Like talking to Luther and getting phone numbers?”

  “Phone numbers…which will lead to addresses. At least, for Honey-Olivia.”

  “It’s a start.” She shot him another grin. “You aren’t half bad at this, Knight. You may have a future with PAVAD yet. With a bit more training up, that is.”

  “Gee, thanks. I’ll keep that in mind next time Dennis and I have book club or putt-putt together.”

  27

  Luther and Pauline Beise had had six children when Miranda had known them. According to what Luther said, they had had two more after relocating. Well, Pauline had had two. Luther had had one. Those two were still children, at thirteen and ten. She carefully wrote out the Beise children’s names on the whiteboard they’d borrowed from Sheriff Karr—who had graciously lent them his office—and turned to the man next to her. They were going to stick around to interview Pauline. “Monica.”

  “Any particular reason why?” Knight had taken off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves, revealing strong, tanned arms. He had good arms. Miranda had to admit, he was a fine-looking specimen—just like her grandmother had pointed out that morning when she’d asked if they were involved. Uh, no. And her grandmother was not about to start matchmaking with her and Allan Knight. Not by a longshot.

  “She never was a good liar. I should be able to use that.”

  “It’s been fourteen years since you saw her. She’s probably forgotten all about you—and whatever trust you had between you back then.”

  “That’s pretty cynical.”

  “It’s honest. In my experience, trust and loyalty only lasts as long as the person is right in front of you. They are fleeting concepts.” There was no inflection in his tone. That was what struck her the most. This was a long-held belief, apparently. ”And then, they forget about you.”

  “It’s sad. Haven’t you ever had anyone in your life—”

  “We’re not talking about me. But, no, I haven’t. Your problem is that you think your experience around here was the norm. Maybe back in 1953…”

  “You, Agent-Doctor Knight, have the problem that you think your experience is the norm. Maybe we’re both wrong, and it lies somewhere in the middle.”

  He just snorted and shook his head. His hair fell in his eyes, rich mahogany. He wore it slightly longer than he used to—he used to have militarily short hair. Now it partially covered the jagged scar that started next to his eye and disappeared into his hairline. It gave him a rakish—and if she was honest with herself—a very sexy, almost dangerous, appeal.

  She really needed to get out more. He might be fine to look at, but he had the personality of a grizzly bear. Miranda didn’t need a grizzly bear. A teddy bear was more her speed.

  “So where do we find Monica Beise?”

  Miranda shook her head. “We don’t. That’s the job of our computer crew. Carrie Lorcan and Jac together are very, very, very good. We just have to wait.”

  “So what do you think happened?”

  Miranda studied the board with photos and reports pinned to it everywhere. “I… a crime of passion. Not anything meditated. He, she, or they hit her. She went down. They thought she was dead, and they buried her in the quilt she was probably working on that very day. Then they took off. The whole family took off. Which is odd. If more than one person knows a secret, it doesn’t stay a secret. At least, not this long. Of course, the younger children probably had no clue what had happened, but the four oldest might have seen or heard something through the years…”

  Knight nodded, crossing those arms over his hard, broad chest. “That makes the most sense.”

  “Our biggest question is who?” Miranda closed her eyes and thought back to that time. “It was simpler then, but also more complicated.”

  “How so? Keep going.”

  “My father had just been assigned to somewhere in the Middle East. Meyra needed more help than he could get her over there. I’m the oldest of the granddaughters, so I was given more freedom—but a lot more responsibility, too. I never took that lightly.”

  “Where was your mother?”

  “She’d passed away when I was eleven. So we were going to live with my grandmother full time, instead of the summers. She already had custody of Dixie, Daisy, Darcey, and Dusty. Their parents had both gotten into trouble when Dusty was not even a year, I think. They took off, leaving my cousins with my grandmother. We spent every summer here in Masterson, with our family, and we loved it. Our cousin Charlotte, too. Her mother died when she was a junior in high school, and she came here and stayed with the rest of us. She just transferred to a small town in Texas with the TSP. Her father’s family was from Texas, and she moved there a few months after Christmas last year so that she could get to know them.” She smiled, remembering the freedoms they’d experienced in Masterson that they hadn’t been able to on a variety of military bases. Masterson…Masterson just had that quaint, small-town feel that she would always appreciate. “We moved here when I was eleven, full time. At least, my sisters and I did. My father…well, he would visit every chance he could.”

  “So you’d been here four years when the Beises disappeared. What was going on that week, Miranda?”

  “It was close to spring break. We had maybe a day or two to go, I think.” She opened her eyes and looked at him. He stepped away from the desk and closer to her, his warm hands going to her shoulders.

  Before she could protest, he’d guided her to the chair nearby. “Close your eyes, Talley. Let’s do a cognitive.”

  It was the first time he’d voluntarily put his hands on her. Miranda didn’t want to make a mental note of that—but she did. Knight had very nice, masculine hands. Strong hands. “It can’t hurt. At least, not for background information. It’s just been so long, I’m not sure what I can bring to the surface.”

  “Who knows? You might know more than you think.”

  Putting his hands on her had been a very, very bad idea.

  Knight had to get a hold of himself here. Needed to focus on the job. Nothing else. “Lean back. Take a breath. Close your eyes.” She did as he instructed. He waited until she was relaxed and ready. “Ok, take me back to April, fourteen years ago. What were you doing?”

  She smiled again, a wicked expression. “Chasing Levi Masterson.”

  “Oh?”

  “Levi was two years older. The biggest stud in the entire school. Everyone had a crush on him. Including me. Even before he was my knight-in-red-Ford-armor.”

  Levi Masterson, the first boy she’d ever kissed. He could picture her as a fifteen-year-old girl. Easy to do. Her grandmother had dozens of photos of each of her granddaughters littered throughout her home. He’d studied them, drawn to the cinnamon-haired girl in so many of the photos. She’d been a tall, awkward, skinny, redheaded, freckle-faced geek in most of the photos. An ugly duckling who had turned into a swan right there in photos, immortalized forever. Knight didn’t have a single photo of himself from about the age of nine to seventeen. No one had ever bothered; if photos had been taken of him, no one had cared enough to pass them on. He hadn’t cared much in the last few years, but an envy he hadn’t r
ealized was there was just under the surface. “Go on.”

  “I didn’t have my license. Not for another thirteen months. That was always difficult here. With everyone so spread out everywhere.”

  “So how did you get around?”

  “Lesley Beise, unfortunately. He was two years older and always wanting cash. I had a babysitting gig, and I’d help my grandmother with gardening. She likes to use fresh ingredients as often as possible. Marin took that and expanded it into the town nursery. Plus, it was mandatory that we work in the restaurant at least one school night each week, starting when we were thirteen. I worked as often as I could, though. I was saving up for my first car. I’ve always been a pre-planner. Monica worked two hours each night in the restaurant, too. My grandmother hired her as a favor to me.”

  “How does this have to do with Lesley?”

  “He would drive us where we needed to go; in exchange, we’d give him two or three dollars each, depending on how far we needed to go. Everywhere else in town, we walked.”

  “Tell me about Lesley.”

  Her face tightened. “He was someone I tolerated, Knight.”

  “How so?”

  “Monica was extremely close to her siblings. I understood that—you’ve met my family. And she was loyal. I got that, too—but Lesley Beise was a bit of a sleaze.” Her eyes opened, and she looked up at him. Knight hadn’t been aware that he’d moved closer. He put a bit more distance between them.

  “Keep going. And close your eyes.” He didn’t want her looking at him. Not with the two of them so close. He was so close, he could count every single freckle.

  Damn it. He had to get out and meet a woman. One not in any way associated with the bureau. Especially not PAVAD. As soon as he got back to St. Louis.

  There had been a law clerk in the circuit court who he’d been sniffing around before he’d been shot. Maybe he’d call her up and see if she was still interested. Anything to get this edgy feeling to go away. He refused to let himself be attracted to Miranda Talley.

  Knight had to just keep his hands to himself. Keep her far, far away from where she could do damage.

  “Keep going. And keep your eyes closed.” The words came out as a bark. Not his intention. He gentled his tone when she shot him a pointed look. “Miranda, why and how was Lesley Beise a sleazy dick?”

  “Because that’s all he thought with. His undershorts.” Her face tightened even more. “And he had grabby hands.”

  “How so?”

  “I never told Monica because she practically worshiped him. Not until the last time. It was bad that time.”

  “What did he do to you, Miranda?” He could imagine it. She had been thin and awkward at fifteen. Less curved. A little less polished. The glasses had overshadowed her face. But the draw would have been there, even fourteen years ago. If he had been a teenage boy in a small town like this one, he would have looked at her. At least once or twice.

  And if she was in and out of his house, right under his nose—the temptation would have been there. For a teenage boy, it would have been hard to resist doing something stupid.

  Unless it had been the exact opposite. Had familiarity bred contempt? Had Lesley Beise been irritated and annoyed with Miranda and his sister? Wanted them far away from him? Knight knew what that would be like—there had been plenty of foster brothers and sisters in his past who he’d felt that way about. He’d only had ties to a few there at the end.

  It had been better to close himself off from everyone. Self-preservation was a very real thing.

  “It wasn’t anything overt, at first.” Her voice lowered, turned sadder. “It was more insidious than that.”

  “How so?”

  “Hands, mostly. The first time, I just thought it was an accident. You know? I was too young to realize at first that it wasn’t.”

  “He’d touch you. Without your permission.” It wasn’t a question. They both knew that. Anger threatened to boil. If he ever had a teenage daughter—a slim possibility since he’d probably never marry—he’d shred a teenage boy who tried the same. “What did you do about it?”

  “The third time. It was the third time. I was…at their house.” Miranda tensed in the chair, even though the memories were long dust-covered. “I was rarely there without Monica.”

  “Where was Monica?”

  “Hmm. She was late. She’d had to stop and talk to one of the teachers at the high school.” Her hands drummed on the arms of the chair. Long, pretty fingers, with light-pink polished nails. Miranda’s hands were as soft as they’d looked. Her eyes closed again. “I got to her house early, and I was waiting in her room. Her grandmother had let me in. Monica had just painted it orange and pink, and I was there to see it. I was hiding out in her room, actually. She shared with her little sister, but Honey wasn’t there.”

  “What day was that?”

  “A month or so before they disappeared, I think. It was still cold and snowy out. I was shivering. My coat wasn’t thick enough.” Green eyes opened and looked up at him. “He used that as an excuse. Offered to warm me up. When I finally realized what he meant—I was a nerd, Knight; a boy’s attention was terrifying for me at that age—I felt embarrassed and awkward. I did not have those types of feelings for Les. Not by a long shot. Most of all, I just wanted to avoid him.”

  He’d seen photos of Lesley Beise. The guy had looked like a punk—and an ugly one, at that. Rough, tough. Dirty. Nothing that a sweet girl like Miranda had been back then would have ever been attracted to.

  He knew that almost instinctively. “What did he do when you refused him?”

  “He got rough. Pushed me by the shoulder. Told me I thought I was too good for him. And then, he grabbed me.” Direct, open, honest, but Knight got it. It had terrified her. She’d been just a kid. “His grandmother walked in. She’d seen the whole thing.”

  “What did she do?”

  Miranda shook her head. “She turned on me, told me to get my slutty little ass out of her house. That my kind wasn’t welcome around her boy. Said the whole thing was my fault for tempting him, and I would come to a no-good end, and to stay away from the Beises forever. I left—started walking the entire seventeen miles back to town. Levi Masterson picked me up alongside the road halfway home and drove me the rest of the way. I told him everything. He beat up Lesley the next day. They stopped being friends after that. And I was totally in love with my rescuer.” She shot him a suddenly sunny smile that took him aback at its swiftness. Its power. “Levi took me on my first date one week later.”

  28

  Miranda was being an idiot, and she knew it. Allan Knight was not looking at her like a man looked at a woman he wanted. Far from it. The whole idea of that was stupid. She knew better.

  It was probably just hunger. He needed a Happy Meal or something.

  Yeah, she’d just tell herself that until they were back in St. Louis and she could put some distance between them. “We need to get in there and do the interview.”

  “No kidding. Are you prepared with what angle you want to take?”

  “Yes.” Maybe. One thing Miranda hated was feeling unsure of herself. This man probably had the ability to make her feel that way far, far too easily.

  “And if she doesn’t cooperate?”

  “We have other ways to find what we need.” Jac was already tracking down Luther’s daughters from their phone numbers. They’d go from there.

  After they dealt with Pauline.

  Miranda pulled in a deep breath, then set the trail mix aside. It was time to refocus. This was the first real step they’d taken to finding that answer. Clint and Joel had tried—but the files they’d had from when the Beises had disappeared fourteen years ago were pitifully thin.

  No doubt Clint’s father had made sure it stayed that way.

  Poor Clint. His entire law-enforcement career had been overshadowed by Clive.

  Miranda had despised that man. Deeply despised him. Mostly for how he’d treated Clint, and how he’d idoli
zed that creep, Jay—Clint’s younger brother. That guy had scared Miranda. She’d refused to ever be alone with Clint’s brother. Clint had never questioned her about why. She suspected he knew.

  Just like Luther Beise that day, Jay had a habit of getting pushy with girls. Miranda had kicked him in the balls once—for daring to lay a hand on her sister, Marin, without permission. Clive had seen what had happened. He’d made it clear she had better watch herself around him after that.

  Miranda had told Clive to bring it on—if he wanted to face down her father and grandmother for it.

  He hadn’t. Her father hadn’t made it to general by being a pushover.

  Clive and Jay Gunderson had been the biggest blights on her relationship with Clint when she’d been nineteen.

  Clive Gunderson and Luther Beise had been good friends. Despite what Clive had done—and she’d heard from her grandmother that there was far more that people didn’t know about—Clint would probably always have to live with the ghost of Clive’s actions riding on his back.

  Miranda wondered what kind of ghosts Pauline had.

  “Come on, Knight. Let’s go ghost hunting.”

  “Lead on. You’re the boss, Talley.”

  “I am, aren’t I?”

  “This time, anyway.”

  29

  Jac studied the printouts and looked at her supervisor. Carrie was on her cell, giving her husband instructions on what to do for their two children. They had a toddler, she thought, and an infant. Or maybe they had one infant, and his brother Seth and his wife had the toddler? It was hard to keep the Lorcans straight. There were a lot of them in PAVAD now. She waited until Carrie disconnected. “I think I may have found someone. One of the sons.”

  “Who?”

  “Lesley Beise. The oldest boy.” She turned the top printout toward Carrie. They were working out of an actual jail cell. The door was open, of course, but it was still a cell. It looked like something off a 1970s television show, complete with thin cot, shiny metal toilet—yuck, she’d just pretend it wasn’t there—and a small table. There were copies of the Bible and War and Peace on the table, waiting for the cell’s next occupant.