Fatal Fall
Page 27
“You’re not going to let him get away with that, are you?”
“He won’t get away with anything. Trust me.” Nelson shook his head. “But it’s the feds’ deal now.”
“Let’s hope they turn something up.”
“They will. Gardner will talk. They figure at least one of the bodies is probably buried somewhere on Meisner’s property. All they need is to tie him to one of the victims.” Nelson grinned. “His father-in-law has evicted him from the mansion. He’s living in a rental place and struggling to pay his legal bills. He’ll crack eventually.”
“Let’s hope.”
He pointed his chin toward the group under the canopy. “At least we got some measure of justice here.”
Jess looked at the black-clad figures.
He nodded again. “Charlene’s okay. Coping.”
“At least she knows for sure what happened to her daughter now.” Jess wondered whether that knowledge was welcome or whether Charlene would have preferred uncertainty. It was a question Jess wrestled with all the time. “And Peter Whiting is her grandson. At least she has him now, too.”
“The DNA checked out. The Whitings said they never met the birth mother, but Charlene is definitely in Peter’s maternal line and that could only mean Crystal was his mother.” He looked at Jess. “You knew that, I presume?”
She nodded and spoke the words she’d rehearsed. “The blood on the rock didn’t compare to mine at all.”
Jess rubbed the soreness on her chest. She’d had two weeks to get past the ache, and it was still there. When she’d held the report in her hand, she’d felt an actual stabbing pain to her heart that lingered and stole her breath away.
She’d investigated false leads before. But this time had felt different, from Stephenson’s first phone call right up until she saw the solid black on white words from the DNA lab.
She’d always believed her mother’s intuition would lead her to her son. She’d welcomed those early feelings when she first heard about Peter Whiting. She simply knew, in her bones, that Peter was her son.
She’d been wrong. Completely wrong.
The knowledge still took her breath away. Because if her mother’s intuition was faulty, if she couldn’t count on it to lead her to her only child, how would she ever find him?
Nelson shifted his weight. “I won’t say I understand what you’ve gone through. But if it is any consolation, a lot of suffering has been eased by what you did.” He glanced back to the group. “Charlene’s for sure.”
They stood in silence a moment longer, then Nelson turned to go. Jess caught him by the arm. “Did you ever learn why Peter Whiting went to Meisner’s estate that morning?”
“John Whiting was scared they were going to be conned. So he followed Norah Fender. She led him to Crystal, and Crystal led him to Meisner. He kept notes of his activities. Peter found the notes.”
“And the rest is history.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Why the secrecy about the adoption in the first place, though?”
“John was convicted of armed robbery. Sentenced to fifteen years. He got let out in seven, but he wouldn’t have been a good candidate for adopting a child. He and Barbara weren’t willing to wait that long, anyway.”
“You knew all about that, didn’t you? That’s why you didn’t want me to interview them.”
Nelson nodded. “I watched him. Under pressure.”
“At the hospital.”
“He’s a good father,” Nelson said. “No one wants Peter taken from his parents. Not even Charlene.”
Jess joined the group. She spoke to the people she recognized. Beth from the Plum Inn. Elisha and her sister, Marion.
John and Barbara Whiting smiled while holding onto their boy. Jess had met them briefly at the hospital. They seemed to genuinely love the child. Peter wore a large coat that was buttoned up to the collar. A thick white bandage was wrapped around the right side of his head, covering his ear and eye. He waved to Jess, and she waved back. He would be okay, but she’d keep track of him like she did all the others.
Charlene separated herself from an elderly lady’s tight grip on her arm and limped to Jess. “You came.”
“Of course.”
Charlene squeezed her lips into a thin line. She gripped Jess’s hand and nodded.
Jess squeezed back. They said nothing. No words were needed.
The red-haired pastor from Grace’s Church gave the service. Nelson and a fresh-faced police officer lowered the coffin.
Charlene wiped tears from her cheek. Jess steadied her as she sprinkled earth on the grave.
The pastor finished the service. The mourners filed past Charlene; hugging, shaking hands, and expressing their sympathies.
The Whitings came by with sheepish smiles. Barbara held Peter’s hand.
“So much anguish,” John said.
“It wasn’t your fault, but you could have helped,” Jess said. “Charlene is a good person. Peter needs a grandmother.”
John looked down. “Yeah. We just…” He put his arm around Peter’s shoulder.
There was a long silence.
“Life goes on,” Charlene said.
“Yes,” said John.
“Thank you,” Barbara said.
Peter hugged his newfound grandmother, and the Whitings left.
In the end, only Charlene and Jess stood by the grave.
“She’s at peace,” Jess said.
Charlene nodded. “I wish she was still here.”
“I know.”
“I still have her picture on my desk.”
Jess nodded.
“Do you keep your son’s picture with you?”
Jess swallowed. “Yes.”
They left the shelter of the canopy as two men shoveled earth into the grave.
Charlene huddled under Jess’s umbrella. “Your Peter is out there. You’ll find him.”
“I hope so.”
“You found mine, you’ll find yours.” She squeezed Jess’s arm. “You just have to keep looking.”
“I am.” Jess took a deep breath. “Always.”
She gave Charlene one last hug and headed toward the car. Her work was done here. It was time for Jess to move on, professionally and personally.
She pulled out her phone, quickly found the number, and pressed the button to dial. Henry Morris picked up on the second ring. “Jess?”
“I’m on my way back to Denver. How’s your schedule?”
“Wide open.”
“Any chance your dinner offer still stands?”
He laughed. “I think I can squeeze you into my tight schedule. Eight o’clock?”
“Sounds good.”
“I’ll pick you up.”
“Even better.”
He waited a beat. “It’ll be good to see you again.”
“You, too. I’m looking forward to it.”
She slipped the phone in her pocket, and headed back to Denver.
Smiling.
THE END
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ABOUT THE AUTHORS
DIANE CAPRI
Diane Capri is an award-winning New York Times, USA Today, and worldwide bestselling author. She’s a recovering lawyer and snowbird who divides her time between Florida and Michigan. An active member of Mystery Writers of America, Author’s Guild, International Thriller Writers, Alliance of Independent Authors, and Sisters in Crime, she loves to hear from readers and is hard at work on her next novel.
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NIGEL BLACKWELL
Nigel Blackwell was born in rural Oxfordshire in England. He has a love of books, a Ph.D. in Physical Chemistry, and a black belt in pointing out the obvious. He has driven trains, crashed single-seat racecars, and traveled much of the world.
He now lives in Texas with his wife and daughter, and a sixty-pound Siberian husky called Sindei, who apparently owns the house even though she refuses to pay the mortgage. Together, they enjoy the sunshine and listen to the coyotes howl at night.
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Also by DIANE CAPRI
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The Heir Hunter Series:
Blood Trails
The Jess Kimball Thrillers Series:
Fatal Fall
Fatal Error
Fatal Demand
Fatal Distraction
Fatal Enemy
The Hunt for Jack Reacher Series:
Deep Cover Jack
Jack and Joe
Jack in the Green
Get Back Jack
Jack in a Box
Jack and Kill
Don’t Know Jack
The Hunt for Justice Series:
Cold Justice
Wasted Justice
Secret Justice
Twisted Justice
Due Justice
False Truth (serial)
Mistaken Justice
Raw Justice
Also by NIGEL BLACKWELL
Paris Love Match
Fatal Fall is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 Diane Capri and Nigel Blackwell
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Published by: AugustBooks
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