by Blake Pierce
Riley introduced herself and explained that she wanted to talk to Charlotte about her husband’s death.
“I’ll see if I can connect you,” the clerk said.
Riley was put on hold and found herself listening to classical music for a few moments.
Then the clerk came back and said, “I’m afraid she’s not answering her phone. She seldom does, actually.”
“Are you sure she’s in her room?” Riley asked.
“Oh, yes,” the clerk said. “She never goes out at all these days.”
“I’ll be coming by to see her,” Riley said.
Riley ended the call and started the car.
She said to Jared, “I need directions to the Britomart Hotel.”
“Are you going to tell me what this is all about?” Jared asked as he found the directions on his own cell phone.
“When I know, you’ll be the first to hear about it,” Riley said as she started to drive.
*
Riley was impressed by the Britomart Hotel when she arrived and parked in front of the huge, old-fashioned building. She guessed that it must have been built more than a century ago, back in Birmingham’s steel heyday.
Riley and Jared walked into the plush lobby and approached the front desk. The well-dressed clerk spoke in the same sophisticated voice she’d heard over the phone.
“Special Agent Riley Paige, I presume.”
Riley showed him her badge and introduced him to Jared. The clerk tried to call Charlotte’s room, but again got no answer.
The clerk said, “I’m sorry—perhaps you could come by some other time. I can leave her a message and she can get back to you.”
Riley remembered something that Roderick Morse had said about Julian’s wife …
“The woman has become rather a recluse, I fear.”
Leaving it to Charlotte to get back to Riley was really out of the question. For one thing, Riley didn’t anticipate staying in Birmingham a whole lot longer.
Still, she knew she didn’t have the authority to push the issue.
Tread lightly, she told herself.
She said to the clerk, “I’m afraid this is very urgent to our investigation. And since it pertains to her own husband’s death, I think she would want to talk to us.”
The clerk glanced back and forth at Riley and Jared.
Riley held her breath again, hoping Jared wouldn’t say something abrasive.
Finally the clerk nodded. “Follow me. I’ll take you to her room. We’ll see if she’ll make herself available.”
Riley and Jared followed the clerk into an elevator, which took them to the top floor of the building. When they stepped out into the hallway, Riley saw that there were only two room doors. She guessed that two enormous suites took up the entire floor of the building.
The clerk knocked gently on the door and called out, “Ms. Morse, this is Delaney from the downstairs desk. I’m terribly sorry to trouble you, but you’ve got visitors that I believe you’ll want to see.”
Riley heard a quiet woman’s voice behind the door.
“Who is it?”
“A pair of law enforcement officials. One is from the FBI.”
Riley heard the woman exclaim, “Oh, my goodness!”
The door opened, and inside stood a startlingly attractive woman wearing a kimono. She smiled in a warm, charming manner.
Riley was startled. Was this really the same person she had seen in the portrait?
This woman was markedly more full-figured—one might even say stout—but nevertheless quite beautiful.
And Riley didn’t see even the tiniest trace of that fear in her eyes.
Has there been some kind of mistake? she wondered.
Had she come to see the wrong woman altogether?
She took out her badge again and introduced herself and Jared.
In a welcoming, musical voice, the woman said, “Do come in, the two of you. I’m curious to know what this is all about.”
Riley and Jared followed her into the suite, which was even larger and more elegant than Riley had expected. Charlotte Morse invited them to sit down on an antique settee, then she sat in a chair facing them.
Riley took a moment to observe their surroundings.
This luxurious suite didn’t seem as forbidding as the homes of Julian Morse and Andrew Farrell. Riley had found it hard to believe that anyone could live in either of those mansions. By contrast, this place seemed palpably lived-in. And yet at the same time, it seemed strangely sad and lonely.
It took her a few moments to understand why.
Everything here was very old—in excellent repair, but obviously well-used. The suite also had a slight mustiness about it—not an unpleasant smell, just another hint of its age. Countless people had surely stayed here during the many years since the Britomart Hotel had been built. Riley could almost feel their ghostly presence in the air.
She found herself thinking …
If this place could talk …
This room had seen many different kinds of visitors come and go—happy honeymooners, lovers on clandestine trysts, wealthy businessmen on errands far from home. Most of those people had shared one trait in common—and that was transience.
Wealthy as they had been, they were always on their way to or from somewhere else.
This suite had never been a home—only a temporary refuge. Even so, it was warmer and more welcoming than the family mansions.
Still smiling, the woman said, “I take it this must have something to do with my husband’s murder.”
Riley nodded and said, “There was a murder much like it in Atlanta the night before last. The victim was a wealthy man named Andrew Farrell. Perhaps you heard about it.”
The woman shook her head slightly.
“I’m afraid not,” she said. “I don’t pay any attention to the news. I keep rather to myself these days.”
Riley looked at the woman closely. She could see now that this was the same woman who had been in the portrait. It was just that she seemed to have gone through changes since that picture had been painted. Although she looked older, she now looked much happier.
Charlotte Morse tilted her head with curiosity.
“I’m not sure what this has to do with me,” she said. “I’m sure the local police told you that I’m not a suspect in Julian’s murder. I haven’t left this place in—well, I don’t know how long.”
Riley wasn’t sure what to say. But she kept thinking about the expression she’d seen in the portrait, and how much those eyes had reminded her of Morgan Farrell.
She was sure that the resemblance must be significant somehow.
She asked, “Ms. Morse, may I ask what led to your separation from your husband?”
Charlotte’s smile faded, but only a little. She leaned slightly toward Riley and said …
“Agent Paige, take a close look at this face.”
Riley did so, noticing that Charlotte wasn’t wearing any makeup.
She looked about the same age as Riley—and like Riley, she had lines in her face that showed it.
After holding Riley’s gaze for a few moments, Charlotte said …
“Does this look like the kind of face that would please a wealthy and powerful man like Julian Morse?”
Riley was startled.
Charlotte Morse was still a beautiful woman, and now she looked more human than she had in the portrait. Back then she had obviously taken great pains to appear flawlessly youthful.
Charlotte let out a slight laugh and said, “Fifteen years of monogamous marriage is a long time for a man like that. You might say that I outlasted my expiration date by a decade or so! Julian was more than ready to move on—although I’ve not heard that he found a suitable substitute for me by the time he died.”
Then with a sigh Charlotte simply said, “Well …”
Then she shrugged and fell silent.
Riley didn’t feel the slightest bit of sadness or bitterness in that silence. Instead, she sens
ed relief—and even a slight trace of bliss.
But why?
Choosing her words carefully, Riley asked …
“Ms. Morse … what can you tell me about your marriage? Were you … happy?”
Charlotte let out a musical chuckle.
“Happy! What an odd sort of idea! What could happiness possibly have to do with it? I was a good catch for him, and he was a good catch for me. But that was so long ago. He was in the process of divorcing me when … well, you know.”
She gestured toward her surroundings and added, “This was all I was ever going to get from him—a nice place to live. His lawyers put together a brutal prenup when we first got married. Everybody said at the time I was a fool to sign it. I didn’t care then, and I don’t much care now. Belongings don’t matter to me. This is enough for me.”
Then with a glance down at her own full figure she added with chuckle, “And as you can see, I get plenty to eat. I don’t have to worry about my figure anymore.”
Riley almost asked …
“Was your husband abusive?”
But she quickly realized it was a foolish question. The fearful expression in that portrait had already told her the answer.
And the expression Riley saw right now confirmed it.
After fifteen years, Charlotte Morse was free from whatever awful tyranny she’d suffered in her own home from her own husband.
And she was perfectly happy about it.
Riley realized that Jared hadn’t spoken a word since they’d gotten here. She was relieved, of course, that he hadn’t said anything rude or insulting. She glanced at him and saw that he was listening raptly to everything that was being said and was gazing at Charlotte with complete sympathy. It seemed that Jared had been as charmed by her as Riley was.
Maybe he’s not a complete nuisance after all, Riley thought.
Then Charlotte said, “I suppose you want to know whether Julian had any enemies. A better question might be, did he have any friends? No, none that I ever knew of. He liked to hurt and anger people. He did everything he could to keep everyone around him off balance and uncomfortable. He didn’t like to see anyone happy, I guess because he was so unhappy himself deep down. I don’t think he had any idea what friendship was. He certainly didn’t know the meaning of love.”
Then with a sigh she added, “I guess I didn’t either. Maybe I never will.”
Riley sat looking at Charlotte, wondering what other questions to ask.
But really, what could she expect Charlotte to tell her? This woman had no idea who had killed either her husband or Andrew Farrell.
Riley was accomplishing nothing by this visit except intruding on the only things Charlotte still had and treasured—her peace and privacy.
Riley thanked Charlotte, and she and Jared left the apartment.
On the elevator going down, Jared said, “I don’t get it, Agent Paige. What was that all about? What did Morse’s wife have to do with his murder? Weren’t we just wasting our time?”
Riley stifled a sigh. Jared was through being silent. Still, it was a good question—and she really didn’t know the answer.
When they got outside, she told Jared that they were headed back to Atlanta, and that she wanted him to drive. Maybe she could take a break and try to think things through.
As soon as Jared took the wheel and headed the car out of Birmingham, Riley’s cell phone buzzed.
She groaned when she saw who the caller was.
It was her boss, Brent Meredith.
Oh, no, she thought. This can’t be good.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
When Riley took the call, she heard the familiar rumble of Meredith’s voice.
“Agent Paige, is there something you’d like to tell me?”
She shuddered a little at the question. She could easily imagine her team chief’s scowling dark features, which were daunting enough when he was in a good mood. And he sure didn’t sound like he was in a good mood right now.
She stammered, “Sir, I—I can explain … whatever…”
Riley wasn’t exactly sure what she should try to explain. Someone she’d crossed paths with must have complained about her being here. But which one?
“I sure hope you can,” Meredith said. “I just got a call from Elmo Stiles, the police chief down in Atlanta. He said he was curious about what kind of investigation the FBI was conducting there, and just why we’d sent you down there to work on it. He said you hadn’t exactly been forthcoming.”
Then with a growl Meredith added, “Well, what was I supposed to tell him? I had no idea what he was talking about.”
Riley fought down a sigh of despair. She had no choice, of course, but to tell Meredith the truth. Although she’d often played fast and loose with the rules, she tried to never lie to Meredith. He’d been her staunch ally through some pretty tough professional times, when people who ranked higher than he did had wanted to see her fired or worse.
She slowly began to describe everything, starting with when she’d met Morgan Farrell back in February. She also told him about coming to Atlanta and talking to Morgan in jail, and her growing certainty that the woman was innocent.
Meredith grunted, “A single murder doesn’t exactly sound like an authentic FBI case.”
“Well, as it turns out, there’s been another murder,” Riley said.
Without mentioning Van Roff by name, Riley explained that she had learned of Julian Morse’s murder in Birmingham. The man had been killed under strikingly similar circumstances, just a week before Farrell’s murder.
Meredith interrupted, “Don’t tell me. You went to Birmingham to check it out.”
Riley gulped and said, “Yeah, that’s where I am right now.”
“So … should I expect a phone call from the Birmingham police chief, wondering just what the hell you’re doing there?”
“Oh, no,” Riley said. “The Birmingham police have no idea I’m here.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized how bad that sounded.
I’m not making things any better for myself, she thought.
Choosing her words more carefully, she explained that she’d been to Morse’s house and had also paid his widow a visit. She also told him that she was convinced that the two murders had been committed by the same culprit.
Then she said, “So you see, maybe we should make this case official after all. Two murders in two different states—doesn’t that call for a Federal investigation?”
Meredith growled again.
“You know better than that, Agent Paige. The FBI is like the proverbial vampire. It’s got to be invited in.”
“Well, couldn’t you call Chief Stiles back and—”
“The answer is no, Agent Paige. What you’re telling me is still too flimsy for us to go throwing our weight around. By the way, when Stiles asked me what you were doing there, I told him I’d prefer not to discuss it. So I covered for your ass. You’re welcome.”
“I, uh, really appreciate that, sir.”
“You’d better.”
A silence fell. Riley braced herself for whatever might be coming next.
Was he going to demand that she come back to Quantico immediately?
Finally he said, “I hear you got your adoption case settled. Congratulations. It must feel good.”
“Thanks,” Riley said.
“So, I assume you’re taking a little time off to rest and celebrate.”
Riley started breathing a little easier. She felt pretty sure about where Meredith was going with this …
He’s going to look the other way.
“That’s right,” she said. “I needed a break.”
Another silence fell.
Then Meredith said, “Well, don’t expect the company to reimburse you for any expenses. And I don’t want to hear anything more about your activities—not unless you’ve got something that I’ll really want to know about. I’ll expect you back in your office the day after tomorrow.”
Without another word, Meredith ended the call.
Riley sat looking at her cell phone as she let a feeling of relief sink in.
Then Jared Ruhl asked, “So—that was the boss, huh?”
“Yeah,” Riley said.
With a slight whine, Jared added, “Don’t I deserve any credit? I didn’t hear you mention my name once.”
Riley heaved a deep sigh. The truth was, she had been so focused on Meredith that she hadn’t given any thought to the young cop who was driving the car.
She said, “Believe me, I wouldn’t be doing you any favors.”
As Jared kept driving, Riley felt sure of one thing—she’d piqued Meredith’s interest just enough to cut her some slack, give her a chance to learn more about this case.
But she only had one more day to accomplish whatever she could hope to do.
What could she possibly get done with just one day?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Tisha Harter sat in the huge recreation room staring at the game that was unfolding on an enormous video screen.
Guns were blazing, and explosions were going off all around her. Bad guys were popping up all over the place. Usually, Tisha had no problem handling the whole bunch of them.
But today, Tisha couldn’t do anything more than fumble with the remote buttons. With an impatient groan, she gave up and logged out of the game.
For a moment, she just sat there and glared at her tightly bandaged right hand. Two of her fingers were wrapped together and her hand was covered with a foam support that extended all the way over her wrist.
She put down the remote and reached with her other hand for the glass of bourbon she’d poured for herself. She took a swallow, then grumbled aloud …
“That evil bastard.”
She wasn’t thinking about any of the villains in the game. She wasn’t thinking about the nurse who had bandaged the hand, either.
She was thinking about her husband.
Edwin had broken her pinky finger just yesterday in one of his increasingly frequent outbursts of sadistic cruelty. He’d made her scream, which of course he enjoyed. He liked to inflict pain on people, especially on her. He’d been keeping her pretty bruised up lately, although until now he’d been careful not to leave any marks that couldn’t be hidden by her clothing.
