Abandoned

by Allison Brennan

  “Where are you staying?” Bartlett asked.

  “Cape Haven.”

  “At the new resort?”

  “New?”

  “Well, new by my standards. Caters to the golfers and the boaters. Owned by locals.”

  That she knew. Gabriel Truman and his cousin Brian Cooper owned and operated the resort.

  “I have a cottage on the water, it’s very nice.”

  “How long are you staying?”

  “As long as it takes to get answers.”

  “Here’s a copy of the report about Ms. Sterling’s car.”

  She glanced through the report Bartlett handed her.

  The sedan had been registered to D. Jane Sterling in Miami, Florida. Her mother had practically stolen her aunt’s identity—Delia Jane Sterling was married to Max’s great-uncle Archer, her grandmother’s brother. Max had traveled home to California three weeks ago to celebrate Archer’s eightieth birthday. She’d learned then that eighteen years ago—two years before the abandoned car—Aunt Delia had some odd details show up on her credit report, but their financial manager had taken care of the discrepancies. No one had suspected Martha was using the name. Now, so long after the fact, there were no records.

  Well, no easily found records. Apparently Rogan was unusually smart and he’d dug up a few tidbits in financial archives that all pointed to Max’s mother using the name of D. Jane Sterling for more than two years.

  “We worked the case to the best of our ability,” Bartlett was saying. “I wasn’t sheriff then—I was still in the military.”

  “Career?”

  He nodded. “Thirty years in the navy. Good life. Retired ten years ago and was talked into running for sheriff after my cousin died in office.”

  “I’m sorry. Was he killed on duty?”

  “Nothing violent. Heart attack. Harvey had been having problems, was never one to talk about himself, not even to his doctor. Sixty-one, dropped dead in the middle of the office one afternoon.” He shook his head. “I’d never been a cop, but we’re a small county, I run a tight ship, and my staff is good.”

  “The investigator was Detective Marcel Lipsky,” Max said, pointing to the typed name at the bottom of the initial report. “Is he still around?”

  “He still owns his family home, a little place on the Maryland border. He left shortly after I came on board, took a position in Norfolk. More crime, more money. But he’s still on the job, if that’s what you mean.”

  She’d need to talk to Lipsky.

  “When we spoke last month,” Max said, “you indicated that no bodies had been found that matched my mother’s description. How wide did you canvass?”

  “The entire shore—two counties. No Jane Does at all. In fact, the only unidentified bodies we had in the last twenty years were two males in their twenties who were found a year apart on the seaside of the peninsula. They were unidentifiable—been buried for years—and we sent the bodies to the state lab. They have far more resources and so they handle any big cases.”

  “But not this missing person.”

  “Well, we didn’t know anyone was missing at the time,” Bartlett said.

  Max didn’t want to become irritated at Bartlett—he’d been more than cooperative since she reached out last month—but how could he think there was no one missing when they found an abandoned car?

  “Detective Lipsky’s report seems complete, but a bit too neat,” Max said.

  “Too neat?”

  “According to his notes, he investigated the case as a missing person originally—the car was far off the beaten track, but there was no evidence that it had been in an accident. He couldn’t find a record of Ms. Sterling in Virginia, traced her back to Miami where he contacted the local Miami police to follow up. Indicated that he spoke to a detective down there who confirmed that Sterling had an apartment in Miami, but that he hadn’t been able to speak to her. Yet he didn’t file a report with missing persons.”

  “You’ll also note that Ms. Sterling had extensive debt and there was evidence of an identity theft scam at her apartment. Marcel concluded that she may have dumped her Sterling identity and taken a new one. No one came forward at the time asking about her or anyone who fit her description.”

  Max weighed how much she should tell Bartlett.

  “I’ve been working with the Miami police on this. Because she disappeared more than a decade ago, I assume her landlord had sold off her belongings.” She’d spent weeks trying to track down the former landlords, but they’d had a property management company that had changed hands multiple times in the last sixteen years and there was no record of Martha’s rental or what happened to her belongings. David was in Miami right now. Sixteen years was a long time, but he was tracking down people who lived in the apartment building at the same time as her mother.

  “Do you have any proof that your mother was using this identity? Perhaps the cases aren’t connected.”

  When she first talked to Rogan about the connection he’d made, she was certain it was a coincidence. Then he went through his methodology and showed her Sterling’s driver’s license. There was no doubt that it was her mother. She’d dyed her hair, but it was her. The eyes didn’t lie. Neither did the birthday—she’d knocked three years off her age, but kept June tenth.

  “My private investigator tracked down the original driver’s license from Miami, it’s definitely my mother.”

  Bartlett looked at his notes. “Martha Revere.”

  She nodded. “I’ve also learned that she was associated with James Truman, goes by Jimmy, a local resident from Northampton who also seems to have disappeared—albeit ten years ago, not sixteen.”

  The change on Bartlett’s face was subtle, but Max always kept a close eye on the mannerisms and expressions of anyone she interviewed. She’d picked up on more truth—and lies—by paying attention.

  But the sheriff didn’t say anything. He was good.

  “You know him.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I know the family,” he said. Nothing more.

  “Did you know Jimmy’s brother Gabriel from the navy?”

  If he was surprised that she had the information about Gabriel Truman, he didn’t let on.

  “No. We never served together. But this is a small community. I know most everyone who has lived here a time.”

  She was certain he not only knew the Trumans, but knew them well—at least well enough to be talking to Gabriel after she left. She scrubbed the idea of playing incognito any longer.

  “So you’re familiar with Jimmy Truman’s criminal record?”

  Silence. “I wasn’t the sheriff then.”

  That wasn’t an answer. He damn well knew about Truman’s record. Though Bartlett was older than both Truman brothers, and he hadn’t been a cop at the time, he certainly knew the history. Small community, as he kept saying. Military man. Sheriff. Yeah, he knew everyone in the area, personally or by reputation. She might need his information or insight down the road—or his help—so she wasn’t going to confront him about this now.

  Instead, she said, “I appreciate the report.” She held up her copy of the report. “I’m going to talk to Detective Lipsky, and then I may have additional questions.”

  “Like I said, I’m happy to help in any way I can. I wish I had more for you.”

  So did Max.

  “One more question—the report says the car was taken to impound. Is it still there?”

  “Sixteen years? I couldn’t tell you—possibly, but it would have been stored outside, and any evidence inside the car would have been logged in a police storage locker. We don’t have the storage here—not for something that old—but we share space with the state police.”

  A lot of legwork, Max thought, but she was in this for the long haul.

  “Who would I speak with?”

  Bartlett wrote on his tablet. “Let me follow up for you. I can get the information easily, though it may take them a day or two to track it down, especially if
it’s not logged in the computer. I’ll call you.”

  He was being more than a little helpful now that she’d stopped talking about the Trumans.

  “I appreciate your help, Sheriff.”

  “Call me Bill, please. We’re not formal around here.”

  * * *

  Max went to the public records office at the county seat. She had the address of the house Jimmy Truman had grown up in, thanks to Sean Rogan, and a copy of the deed that said it now belonged to Gabriel Truman. She checked the tax rolls—he was current on his property taxes. He’d taken out a small mortgage on the house ten years ago, shortly after his mother died. She also pulled his business records for the charter boat company and the resort. She searched for any business or property in the name of James or Jimmy Truman—or J. J. Sterling or Delia Sterling or Jane Sterling, to cover her bases. Nothing.

  She’d have to go through Gabriel’s business documents in more detail—she didn’t have the time here nor did she want to draw attention to her activities. So she had everything she might need copied and took them with her.

  None of this information probably mattered, but it was always best to know everything about everyone who might be connected to an investigation.

  As she drove back to Cape Haven she needed to remember to think of Martha Revere’s disappearance like a case—an investigation she had done hundreds of times over the last decade. She couldn’t think of Martha as her mother, or that she had a personal stake in the outcome. She had to think as an outsider, at least try to be impartial. That Martha Revere hadn’t abandoned her, she’d simply abandoned her daughter. That Martha Revere hadn’t lived off her trust fund without any word to her family, that she hadn’t been a selfish bitch who only thought about herself and her own wants and desires.

  Max rubbed her eyes, then focused on the road. She was too close to this. Everything she felt as a child had returned two months ago when Rogan told her he’d found out Martha had been using the Sterling name. Then learning Saturday night that Jimmy had been using the name, too—that angered Max more than a little. That bastard—what had he been up to?

  Max couldn’t think of Martha as a victim, even if she had been murdered. Martha had never acted like a victim in anything. Once, when Max was six or seven, they’d stayed with one of Martha’s boyfriends in Cabo for a few weeks. Martha and the jerk argued and he backhanded her so hard she fell and hit her head on the coffee table. Bleeding and furious, Martha had attacked him—it was one of Max’s most distinctive memories. He’d been stunned, and that bought Martha time. He was down and getting up, then she repeatedly kicked him in the groin. He was in tears and begging—trying to at least—when she walked out.

  She’d almost forgotten Max that night. Max had been watching from the doorway. If Max hadn’t ran and followed her mom, she couldn’t honestly say that Martha would have come back for her.

  Martha was no victim, and neither was Jimmy. So what had happened between them? Had they really been together for as long as six years after Martha left Max? Had Jimmy killed her? If so, why?

  * * *

  “Hello, Bill.” Gabriel Truman was surprised that the sheriff had come all this way without a phone call. He opened the door and let the man in. “Is this official?”

  Bill was still dressed in his uniform, and he took off his hat. “No, I’m heading home.”

  They both knew that Cape Haven was not on Bill’s way home.

  “I’ll only keep you a moment,” Bill added.

  “It’s fine—I’m just making dinner.” He motioned for Bill to follow him to the back of the house.

  Eve looked up from her homework. “Hi, Sheriff Bartlett,” she said, then wrinkled her nose. “Do you understand rational equations? Dad says he does, but I don’t understand him.”

  “Go,” Gabriel said. “Watch that YouTube video I found. If you still don’t get it, I’ll find a different way to explain after dinner.” He didn’t know why Bill was here, but if he was making a house call, it wasn’t good news. Eve didn’t need to know who was in trouble or why. Maybe he sheltered her a bit too much, but after his childhood, he wanted to give Eve as much room to be a kid as possible, without the worries of an adult. She was already too smart and wise for her years—except for math.

  Eve looked from Gabriel to Bill, then nodded. “Right. You want privacy. You could have just asked. Can I go to Shelley’s? Please? I’ll be home by seven, and I promise, this is the last homework I have tonight.”

  “Six thirty—that’s when dinner will be ready,” Gabriel said. Shelley lived a block and a half away.

  “Not a minute later!” She jumped up and was halfway out the back door with a quick, “Thanks, Dad!”

  Gabriel motioned for Bill to sit at the kitchen table. He stirred the clam chowder he was making, something easy that would be enough for several meals. He needed to make a salad, but that could wait. He sat across from Bill. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, really, but your brother’s name came up today, and I wanted to talk to you about it before the reporter found you.”

  His blood chilled. “Reporter?”

  “Maxine Revere. She’s following up on a car abandoned near here years ago, when you were still overseas. She believes it belonged to her mother.”

  Bill was talking, but Gabriel only partly heard him. Revere. Maxine Revere. Who was she? Why was she asking questions?

  “What kind of reporter? What does she want with Jimmy?”

  “She said she’s not here as a reporter, she’s here for personal reasons.”

  This could not be happening. “Personal?”

  “Like I said, a car she believes belonged to her mother was found on a dirt road near Oyster Bay, past the Hendersons’ farm.”

  “Her mother?” Gabriel’s voice was quiet, he wasn’t even certain he’d spoken, until Bill continued.

  “It’s debatable. The car was registered to D. Jane Sterling from Florida. Ms. Revere believes that was an alias for her mother, Martha Revere. According to her, her mother had been romantically involved with your brother way back when. Did you know her?”

  “No,” he said automatically. Was it a lie? Not really. Meeting a woman once didn’t mean he knew her. “When did all this happen? With the car.”

  “Sixteen years ago, this month. I only know because I read the report. It was investigated by a detective who’s now in Norfolk, and there was really nothing to investigate. No sign of foul play, not much of anything to go on. But because this Ms. Revere seemed interested in her mother’s relationship with your brother, I didn’t want you to be blindsided. Your brother caused you and your family a lot of heartache and pain.”

  “That’s an understatement,” Gabriel muttered. “You said this car wasn’t even registered to this reporter’s mother?”

  “No, but she has compelling evidence that Sterling and her mother are one and the same. I don’t think she’d be spending all this time here if she didn’t have something to go on.”

  “All what time?”

  “Said she’s staying at your resort for the next month or so, until she finds out what happened to her mother.”

  “My resort?” Why would she pick Cape Haven? What did this damn reporter know about her mother and Jimmy? Was she looking to dig up dirt? Write a nasty little article for some personal vendetta?

  “I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” Bill said cautiously.

  Gabriel got up and stirred the soup again, then pulled the vegetables out of the drawer in the refrigerator and started making a salad. Bill was a cop. He might also be a friend, but he was a cop first, and Gabriel needed to figure out what he was going to do about this reporter—without Bill in the room. He needed to do something with his hands so he didn’t lose his temper.

  He said, “Anytime I hear Jimmy’s name, I get angry all over again.” That was the truth, and should mask his reaction. He hoped.

  “That you and your brother came from the same parents is a mystery, that’s for
certain,” Bill said. “But as you know, you’re not your brother’s keeper. He got himself into trouble time and time again. But you haven’t seen him in years, he probably found some trouble he couldn’t con his way out of.”

  Bill knew about the federal investigation into Jimmy’s activities, and Gabriel had gone on record stating that he hadn’t seen or heard from his brother since before he left the navy. The last time he’d seen him was at Christmas twenty years ago when they were both home at the same time.

  Which was a lie, but one that Gabriel would never back away from. Ever. His brother was going to ruin his life, even now. All Gabriel had ever done was clean up after Jimmy until his brother stole nearly everything from his mother, forced her to go back to work to make ends meet. That was when Gabriel told him to leave and never come back.

  But his mother had forgiven him. A mother’s love, she said.

  He’s my son, Gabriel. I can’t turn my back on him. I know he has problems, but he’s still my boy.

  Gabriel hadn’t understood at the time. Now that he had Eve—maybe, he understood a little. A very little. Because Eve was all that was good in the world, and Jimmy was all that was evil. What if his mother couldn’t see him for what he was because she loved him unconditionally?

  A mother’s love …

  “I’ll never forgive him for what he did to my mother,” Gabriel said. The truth, and a truth that could explain his rage.

  If you only knew how cruel Jimmy really was …

  “Emily was a good woman,” Bill said. “And she had you. She was proud of you, Gabriel. And don’t think we all don’t know that you gave up your career to take care of her in her last years.”

  “And I had Eve.”

  “She’s a great kid, you’ve done a good job raising her.”

  “No complaints.” He wanted this conversation over. Bill told him what he needed to know, and Gabriel would find out what this Maxine Revere was up to, find a way to make her to leave without learning anything about his family.

  “I don’t know that the reporter is going to find the answers that she’s looking for,” Bill said, “because there’s really nothing to find.” He pulled an envelope from his pocket. “Here’s a copy of everything I gave her. You can see there wasn’t much to go on then, and sixteen years later? But she’s tenacious, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she reached out to you.”