Buried Secrets

by Irene Hannon

  He turned his back.

  Hmph. Hopefully she’d get a warmer greeting from the driver of the car pulling up her driveway.

  After depositing her glass in the sink, she grabbed her purse and touched up her lipstick. As she dropped the tube back into her purse, the bell rang.

  The man was punctual—one more virtue to add to his growing list.

  Stopping in the foyer, she tugged at the hem of her linen jacket and smoothed a hand down her slacks.

  Ready.

  She opened the door to find Mac smiling at her, and her heart skipped a beat.

  Not so ready after all.

  “Reporting for duty.” He gave her a jaunty salute.

  She did her best to match his light tone as she ushered him in. “I feel guilty about usurping your Saturday.”

  “You didn’t usurp it. I volunteered.” He gave the room a quick inspection. “Nice. Much homier than my place.”

  She studied the cozy living room, trying to see it through his eyes. An off-white couch with a soft, teal throw. A wing chair upholstered in teal and beige stripes. An old trunk for a card table. Brass lamps. Family photos on the mantel. Impressionist prints on the walls. Yeah. It was nice. And restful.

  “Thanks. But you’ve only been in your place a few weeks. It’ll come together.”

  “Not according to Lance. He thinks I should hire an interior decorator. If my what-do-I-need-with-a-kitchen-table-when-a-card-table-will-do brother noticed it’s bare bones, trust me—it’s bare bones. Maybe you could give me a few tips.”

  “I’d have to see it first.”

  “That could be arranged.”

  At his husky tone, she tilted her head. “I thought you wanted to put the personal stuff on ice until we finished this case.”

  “Are decorating tips personal?”

  “No. But visiting a man’s apartment is.”

  “I’m in your house.”

  “For business reasons.” She was tempted to add the word unfortunately—but resisted. Instead, she tapped her watch. “And speaking of business . . .”

  “We need to hit the road. Got it. Would you like me to drive?”

  “Why don’t we take turns?” She picked up her briefcase and purse. “The Columbia PD faxed the case report to my office this morning, but I haven’t had a chance to read it. We could switch places halfway there. That would give us both a chance to get up to speed before we meet with Detective Breton.”

  “You’ve already been to your office?”

  “I’m used to getting up early. I’ll join you by the garage after I activate the alarm system.”

  She waited until he exited, then locked and bolted the front door. Once in the kitchen, she tapped the activation code into the keypad beside the back door and slipped through, double-checking the knob to make certain it was locked.

  Yep. She was good to go.

  Better than good, actually, as she headed toward the detached garage and Mac came into sight.

  Maybe this had ended up being another working Saturday, even though she’d vowed to break that habit. If she wanted to create the life she’d promised herself as she lay in the hospital in Chicago during the days following her close encounter with death, she needed to start carving out some personal time.

  But for once she didn’t mind putting in weekend hours.

  Because Mac would be with her.

  And if all went well after she got to the bottom of the buried bones case, perhaps he’d become a regular part of her weekends—for personal rather than business reasons.

  Now there was a thought to brighten a woman’s day!

  10

  Mac turned the final page of the material the Columbia PD had faxed to Lisa and read the last few lines. He sensed her gaze, but she didn’t speak. In fact, they’d had little conversation during the entire drive. She’d read the file for the first hour while he took the wheel and drove in silence, and she’d given him the same courtesy.

  But they were approaching the outskirts of the college town, and it was time to talk.

  He closed the file and looked over at her. “The Columbia PD did a thorough job.”

  “I agree. But they got nowhere.”

  “Not for lack of trying.”

  “Did any particular interviews stand out for you?”

  “Yeah.” He opened the file again and riffled through the pages. “Alena’s roommate—Erika. The roommate’s boyfriend—Joe. And the girl who joined them on their trip to St. Louis the night Alena went missing—Jessica. Their stories were exactly the same.”

  “Almost verbatim, in some cases.”

  She’d come to the same conclusion he had.

  “You’re thinking they sounded too perfect. Too practiced. Like they’d been rehearsed.”

  “Yes.” Lisa skirted past a slow-moving driver, as impatient behind the wheel as he was. One more thing they had in common. “Did you notice the follow-up interviews with Erika? She used a lot of the same phrases again, word for word.”

  “I noticed. Yet their story checked out. They were in St. Louis the weekend Alena went missing, at Erika’s parents’ house. A neighbor saw them. They did go to a concert Saturday night. And Erika did report Alena missing on Monday after the girl didn’t show in their dorm room.”

  Lisa veered off onto the exit ramp. “But there are holes in that story.”

  He hadn’t figured she’d missed them. “True. The neighbor didn’t see them until Saturday morning, so their only alibi for Friday night is each other. But there’s an issue with motive. The Columbia PD couldn’t find one.”

  “I know.” She skimmed the directions in her lap and hung a right. “We should see the retirement center on the left . . . there it is, up ahead.”

  As she swung into the parking area, Mac examined the three connected buildings clustered around a central courtyard. “How long has Stan Breton been here?”

  “Two years. He moved in after his wife died because his children are scattered around the country. They all invited him to live with them, but he feels more at home in Columbia. This is where he met his wife and spent most of his adult life.” She angled into an empty spot and set the brake.

  “Sounds like you got his life story.”

  “I told you—I have a tendency to slip into interrogation mode even in casual conversations. Shall we?”

  Before he could respond, let alone circle the car to open her door, she slid from behind the wheel and led the way toward the entrance.

  Definitely a take-charge kind of woman.

  His kind of woman.

  A spare older man with a shock of white hair and keen blue eyes limped toward them the instant they stepped through the main door.

  “Chief Grant, I assume. And Detective McGregor.” The man stuck his hand out to Lisa.

  Smiling, she took it. “Detective Breton, I presume. Good thing we weren’t trying to sneak in.”

  Mac returned the man’s firm grip.

  “These old eyes aren’t what they used to be, but after thirty-three years in the business, I can pick law enforcement out of any crowd. And in this place?” He waved a hand around the spacious lobby, populated on this Saturday morning by the geriatric set. “It’s a no-brainer. I’ve staked out a quiet corner over there for us, if that’s okay.” He indicated a settee and chair facing a fountain.

  “Perfect.” Lisa gave an approving nod.

  Stan led the way, taking the single chair and leaving the small settee for his visitors.

  Mac stifled a grin. Perfect, indeed—and not just because the splashing water would provide cover for their conversation.

  Although Lisa gave the cozy setup an uncertain look, she sat without comment, scooting over to allow him as much room as possible.

  He sat next to her, keeping to his side.

  But it was still cozy.

  “Where are my manners? May I offer you coffee or a soft drink before we begin?” The older man started to rise.

  “I’m fine,” Lisa assured him.
>
  “Me too.”

  While the man sank back into his seat, she opened the file they’d reviewed en route. “Mac—Detective McGregor—and I were impressed with the thoroughness of your investigation, Detective Breton.”

  “Make it Stan. My detective days are long past. Thanks for those kind words, but it wasn’t thorough enough. Someone was responsible for that young girl’s disappearance, and while I had a few other cold cases in my career, this one always haunted me.”

  “Why?” Lisa reached for her pen at the same moment Mac extracted his notebook from his pocket.

  “You read the case report. She was all alone here, thrust into a foreign world as part of what educators and politicians assumed, I suppose, was a benevolent gesture. Taking a poor young girl from a small university in the Czech Republic and offering her a chance to experience a taste of American life.” He shook his head. “Can you imagine the culture shock, after two decades living under a communist regime, often in impoverished circumstances?”

  “It had to be very hard.” Lisa finished jotting a note and looked up. “Based on your interviews with her acquaintances, it sounded as if she had difficulty making friends.”

  “Yes. Her English skills weren’t strong, so communicating—and connecting—were a challenge. She was smart, according to her teachers, but she was out of her element and overwhelmed. If pressure hadn’t been put on her from various sources to stick out the academic year, she’d have bailed.” He leaned forward. “How certain are you the bones you discovered belong to her?”

  While Lisa filled the retired detective in on their findings and theories, Mac took the Columbia PD file from her and flipped through it again, scribbling down the most recent contact information for Alena’s parents, last updated more than a decade ago. First thing Monday, he’d place a call to the St. Louis FBI office and get things moving to obtain a DNA sample from a relative.

  “Even though a lot of the clues suggest this could be Alena, to be honest, it’s the red stone that’s most convincing,” Lisa concluded.

  “I agree.” Stan tapped the arm of his chair. “Based on the severed finger, it would appear someone went to a lot of effort to get rid of incriminating evidence. From what I could gather, the ring was unique—a cluster of small red stones with a larger one in the middle. A family heirloom, as I recall. No one I interviewed had ever seen Alena without it.” His expression grew thoughtful. “Strange how despite the effort made to get rid of it, one small, possibly incriminating, stone fell out.”

  “Providential more than strange, I’m thinking,” Lisa said.

  “I hope so. Providence sure wasn’t smiling on me twenty-four years ago when I was trying to crack the case. I’d like to think that young woman’s disappearance will finally be solved, though. Her parents were shattered.”

  “Speaking of her parents . . .” Mac indicated the file. “I assume this is the most recent contact information?”

  “As far as I know. I kept in touch with them for a long while. I didn’t want them to think we’d forgotten about their daughter. But after her father died ten years ago, I communicated less often. The last time I contacted her mother, right before I retired, I simply wished her well and told her if there was ever any news to report, someone would let her know. We both assumed that was the end of it. Now this.” He exhaled. “It’s amazing.”

  “It’s also possible this will end up being a dead end.” Mac slipped his pen back in his pocket.

  “That’s not what my gut is telling me.”

  “Ours, either.” Lisa jumped back in. “Mac is going to have the FBI arrange for its legal attaché in Prague to coordinate with the local authorities to get a DNA sample. It might not be a bad idea to give Alena’s mother a heads-up. Would you like to do that?”

  As Stan’s face softened, Mac glanced at Lisa. She didn’t have to do that. In truth, she probably shouldn’t. This was an official police matter, in her jurisdiction now, and Stan was retired.

  But Stan had worked Alena’s case hard—and being the one to bring this news to a grieving parent would close the circle for him.

  The choice said a lot about Lisa.

  She might be a total pro. She might be cool, composed, and thick-skinned, as Mitch had noted based on the exchange he’d witnessed between her and a meth tweaker. She might be tough enough to withstand any harassment thrown her way in a male-dominated field.

  Yet beneath that tough exterior beat a kind, tender, caring heart. She was a cop, yes. And a good one. But she was also a woman who rescued stray dogs and bent the rules to give a retired detective a sense of closure.

  All of which reinforced his determination to get to know her a whole lot better once this thing was over.

  “I’d appreciate that very much.” Stan’s voice rasped.

  “It’s my pleasure. This was your case long before it was ours. We’re just getting our feet wet. I’d ask you to wait until Monday, when we contact the FBI, and request her discretion until we’re certain we have a match.”

  “Of course.” He knitted his fingers together. “So what happens next? Even if this is Alena, aren’t we back to square one? The players have scattered, and it doesn’t appear there are any new leads.”

  “Yet.” Mac added the caveat. This was Lisa’s investigation, and while he had no intention of dominating it—or this conversation—he wanted to be part of it . . . to the end. “It would be interesting to chat again with some of the people closest to Alena. See if their script has changed.”

  A spark of—approval?—flickered in the man’s eyes. “Script. Interesting word choice. I take it you noticed the similarity in their interviews too.”

  “Yes. Any thoughts or conjectures you’d like to share that couldn’t be put in the report? Off the record.” Mac shifted on the settee, resisting the temptation to loosen his tie. Was the air-conditioning in this place on the blink?

  Or perhaps Lisa’s leg brushing against his was the culprit for his temperature uptick.

  He did his best to focus on problem solving instead of proximity.

  The man considered the question before he responded. “I don’t know what happened the night Alena disappeared, but every instinct I honed over a lifetime in law enforcement tells me those three have that answer. Hard as I tried, though, I couldn’t find any motive for foul play. The daughter of a state senator. A Rhodes Scholar. A woman who aced almost every class she took and had an excellent job waiting for her when she graduated. Why would they get involved in anything dark or dirty?”

  Lisa tapped her pen against her notebook, creases scoring her forehead. “We talked about motive on the way here too, after reviewing the case files. And I agree—there doesn’t seem to be one. So I’m wondering if a cover-up might have been involved. Not a malicious or planned killing, but an accident none of them wanted to be linked to. They all had a lot to lose if they were involved in any sort of scandal.”

  “That occurred to me too, but I couldn’t find any evidence to support that theory—and I worked the roommate over several times. Of the three, she struck me as the most likely to crack. On the ditzy side, and very emotional. The tears were flowing, let me tell you. She claimed she was just upset about her roommate’s disappearance, but I always thought it was more than that. I had the feeling she was scared out of her mind.”

  “Interesting.” Lisa made a note.

  “On the other hand, it’s possible our suspicions are wrong, that it was a random killing. Maybe Alena crossed paths with someone looking for trouble, who had no connection to the university.” Stan sighed. “In the end, I had to let it go. You might have to do the same. It’s a very cold case. But if the DNA matches, at least her mother will be able to bring her daughter’s remains home.”

  Mac might not have known Lisa for long, but the puckers on her brow told him she wasn’t going to be satisfied with that.

  She wanted to solve this case.

  “You could be right, but I’m going to do some serious digging before I put it
back on ice.” She closed the file in her lap and tapped the sheets until everything was in place, no loose ends hanging out. Then she pulled a card from her pocket and handed it to the man. “I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know once you make contact with Alena’s mother. And if any other helpful thoughts come to mind, don’t hesitate to call.”

  “After thinking about this for twenty-four years, I doubt that will happen.”

  The man stood, and Mac handed over one of his cards too. “This is Lisa’s case, but if for any reason you can’t reach her, consider me backup.”

  Stan tucked both cards in his pocket as he walked them to the door. “I wish you both good luck.” He shook their hands, his grip firm.

  “Thanks.” Lisa hoisted her shoulder purse into position. “We’ll let you know how things progress—and thank you for your time.”

  “Time is one commodity I have plenty of these days. Have a safe drive back.”

  They walked to the car in silence, and Lisa circled around to the driver’s side.

  “I’d be happy to take a shift driving back.” He slid into the passenger seat.

  “Let me see how it goes. I’m feeling pretty energized after that meeting.”

  He buckled his seat belt as she eased out of the parking spot and accelerated toward the highway. “How so? We didn’t learn anything new.”

  “No, but Stan worked that case for a long time, and it was helpful to have him reinforce our conclusions about the similarity in the interviews among Alena’s three friends—and to hear he’d also considered the accident theory, which could explain the absence of a motive.”

  “But as he also pointed out, Alena might simply have crossed paths with the wrong person.”

  She gave a firm shake of her head. “That doesn’t feel right.”

  “Proving otherwise could be tough.”

  Her chin rose a fraction. “I’m not afraid of tough. I want justice for that girl. I also want an explanation for how she ended up in a shallow grave on wooded property with a fatal head trauma. And I’m going to start with the roommate—assuming she’s still in the area.”

  “That would be my choice too.”