'What do you mean?'
'I want to help on the investigation.'
'I appreciate the offer, but this isn't your beat,' Maggie replied.
'I know that, but this guy murdered that woman right in front of my eyes.'
Maggie crouched down. Kasey stared back at her with fierce blue eyes. The cop's wet red hair was a curly mess on her head. She was definitely young. Way too young. Maggie had worked with cops like Kasey for years; they were full of enthusiasm, but they made immature mistakes. You had to take the bad with the good.
'Are you married, Kasey?' she asked.
'Yes.'
'What's your husband like?'
Kasey smiled. 'Oh, Bruce is a big bear of a guy. Looks like a blond lumberjack.'
'What does he do?'
'Right now? He's not working. We moved here when Bruce got a job in Two Harbors, but he got laid off. So mostly he does conspiracy research. That's his hobby.'
'What, like aliens shot down the space shuttle?'
'It's mostly who shot JFK,' Kasey said. 'Bruce is like a cousin of a cousin of a cousin of a cousin. He takes it personally.'
'Do you have kids?' Maggie asked.
Kasey nodded and held up one finger. 'Jack.'
'Jack Kennedy?'
'It was Bruce's idea.'
'Well, good for you. You've got a family. Don't let what happened here tonight get in the way.'
'What do you mean?'
'I mean, let it go. You stumbled into the middle of something horrible, and you did your best to stop it. Go back to your life, and let us take it the rest of the way.'
'I really want to help,' Kasey insisted. 'Whatever it is, even if it's gopher shit, I want to be part of the investigation.'
Maggie stood up and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. A cough rattled in her throat. 'Look, I've got to meet with Troy Grange tomorrow. He's the husband of the second victim, and he's a friend of mine. I need to talk to him about what happened here. Why don't you come with me?'
'Really? Yes, absolutely. Thank you.'
'It won't be easy, Kasey. Before tonight, we didn't know what this son of a bitch was up to, but now we have a body. No matter what we tell him, Troy Grange is going to realize that his wife is probably dead. There's nothing harder than that.'
'I understand. I really appreciate it.'
Maggie patted Kasey's knee. 'Go home, go to sleep.'
'I will.'
'One last question.'
'What is it?' Kasey asked.
'How do you get your hair that color? What do you use?'
'It's natural.'
'I'll be damned,' Maggie said.
* * *
Chapter Five
Serena Dial walked down Chisholm Trail from the highway toward the Glenn estate on Friday afternoon. The street was unnaturally dark. Light didn't easily penetrate the wooded lots of the lake homes, and the fall sky was a bed of charcoal. She smelled snow in the cold air and heard the honking of geese overhead flying southward. The dead street around her spoke to the waning season. Carved jack-o-lanterns grew moldy and soft on porch railings. The trees were mostly bare.
She imagined the same street at midnight the previous day. In the fog. In the dark. Stride was right; someone could have come and gone easily without being noticed and without leaving a trail.
Assuming someone had been there at all.
So far, there was no conclusive evidence to prove or disprove that an intruder had entered the Glenn house. The forensics team from the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension in St Paul had arrived at five in the morning and spent seven hours at the scene, without much to show for their efforts. It would be weeks before they sifted through the fingerprints on the doors and windows. They had bagged traces of wet soil on the upstairs carpet, but those could be ascribed to the boots of the policemen who had responded to the 911 call. The front and backyards were similarly a mess of footprints from the first wave of searchers at the scene.
Callie's disappearance had broken on the morning news shows, competing with reports of the latest murder in the farmlands north of Duluth. Serena and Stride had spoken live to a gaggle of reporters. By now, most people in Minnesota had seen the photograph of the missing baby girl with blonde curls and a toothy smile. Stride had spent most of the morning mobilizing the statewide alert system, and Serena had overseen the network of interviews with neighbors on the roads surrounding Marcus Glenn's home and along the fifty miles of populated shoreline on Pokegama Lake. The result of all that effort was little or nothing to help their investigation. No witnesses. No credible sightings. No reports of vehicles coming or going that could focus their search.
Callie Glenn was there, and then she wasn't. The magician had waved his black sheet and made her vanish. As the clock ticked, each hour increased the risk that they would never find her.
Serena knew what Denise Sheridan believed. Marcus Glenn had killed his own child, either accidentally or deliberately, and then hidden the body to cover up his actions. There was no evidence to suggest that he had done so, but there was also no evidence to suggest he hadn't, and in these cases that omission was damning. The finger of suspicion always pointed first at the parents when a child vanished. Serena knew the rumor of guilt had begun to spread around town like a virus. She could hear it in the questions of the reporters, asking about Marcus Glenn, quizzing her about his background and personality, hinting about his capacity for murder. The cold, aloof surgeon was a perfect target.
Serena didn't discount the possibility that Glenn was guilty, but she found herself doubting Denise's instincts about him. For one thing, she had already pegged Denise Sheridan as hopelessly biased by her own relationship with her sister and her husband. She might be a good cop, but she despised Marcus Glenn so much that she would believe anything bad about him. For Serena, Glenn's frigid demeanor actually made him seem innocent. She had dealt with parents guilty of heinous crimes during her time in Las Vegas, and they were always the best actors, the ones who pleaded on television for the return of their children and wept in the arms of their spouses. Glenn wasn't exaggerating his grief or putting on a show for them. If anything, he had invited their scrutiny by showing his true colors.
And yet. And yet. The intruder theory didn't make sense either. There were too many holes in this case.
Serena made her way down the curving driveway that led to the
Glenn front door. Several members of the Grand Rapids Police were on hand to guard the scene and keep reporters and spectators away from the house. They nodded politely at her, but she could sense their uneasiness. She understood. As of this morning, she was a detective on the payroll, but she was still a stranger, an outsider. They all knew Stride because of his years in northern Minnesota, and the police here didn't have any problem accepting his authority. But not Serena. It didn't matter that she had dealt with street crime and violence for a decade in Las Vegas on a level that no one here would see in their lifetimes. She was different, and that made her suspect.
It was easier for her in Duluth. Duluth was a larger city, and there was something about its icy remoteness that made people welcome strangers who had the courage to live there. Out here in Grand Rapids, she was in a small town. If you lived here, you were a known quantity, regardless of whether you were a saint or a sinner. If you didn't, you had to prove yourself.
Serena studied the country-style house. It was low and wide, with three gables over the second-story rooms and white, freshly painted wood siding. A triple garage was on her left, and she saw the windows of an upstairs apartment above the garage doors. The chambered windows of the first-floor dining room faced the yard, but most of the house was built to take advantage of the lake view in the rear. Marcus Glenn, in the master bedroom, wouldn't have seen what was happening in front of his house at night.
If the kidnapping was the work of an intruder, Serena was convinced that he came from the street, by car. Arriving by boat was too risky, with too many variables: launching a boat at
night, navigating the waters without lights, keeping a baby quiet in an area where sound would travel easily across the lake, and landing without a dock. There were too many ways a plan could go wrong. No, the straightforward strategy was to park in the driveway under the cover of trees and go into the house from there.
But how to get into the house without a key? The locks on all of the doors looked unmolested. The windows were solid and tight.
Serena let herself in the front door and stood under the glamorous crystal of the chandelier in the glossy oak foyer. After the chill outside, the house was warm. The ivory carpet on the stairs directly in front of her led to the second floor of the house. She followed the stairs to the second story and looked up and down the long hallway at the series of closed white doors. There were at least eight of them, leading to different rooms. Four bedrooms, two bathrooms, a walk-in closet, and an upstairs laundry. None of the doors gave any clue to its contents. How would an outsider have found the nursery? And how would a kidnapper know whether Callie Glenn still slept in the master bedroom with her parents? That was a big risk.
Serena turned left down the hallway. Callie's nursery was the third door on the right. She opened the door, expecting the bedroom to be empty, but instead she saw Valerie Glenn in her daughter's room. A bay window on the far wall looked out on the lake, and Valerie sat on its polished ledge, her knees pulled up to her chest. She leaned forward with her head buried in her arms; her blonde hair tumbled over her legs. For a long minute, she didn't realize that she was no longer alone. Serena noticed the empty crib in the middle of the carpet. The childish wallpaper showed fairytale cartoons of princesses and frogs. Toys were scattered on the floor.
'Mrs Glenn?' Serena said softly.
When Valerie didn't react, Serena said her name again. This time, Callie's mother jerked up in surprise. 'Oh. Serena. I'm sorry.'
'I didn't mean to disturb you,' she said.
'Is there news?'
Serena shook her head, and the brief glimmer of hope in Valerie's eyes faded. Valerie rested her back against the window frame and turned her head to watch the gray waters of the lake at the end of the lawn. Her face was in profile. Even in grief, with strands of blonde hair mussed across her cheek and tear stains on her face, Valerie Glenn looked perfect and attractive. Her skin had a tan glow, despite the gloom of November. Everything about her was in proportion. Her legs were taut but not muscular, her frame trim but not skinny. She wore tan slacks and a long-sleeved black fleece top. It was a look that said: I'm not trying to be beautiful, really I'm not, but I can't help it.
Serena sat down opposite her on the window ledge. Valerie brushed her hair from her face and offered a weak smile.
'What can you tell me?' she asked.
'I can tell you that a massive search is going on for Callie across the entire state,' Serena assured her. 'Her photo is everywhere. The police, FBI, media, business owners, everyone will help us. Tips are already coming in.'
'What do you think they want?' Valerie asked. 'Is it money? If we pay, will they give her back to me?'
'I don't know enough about what happened to give you any answers,' Serena said. 'But I promise you that our first priority will always be Callie's safety.'
'I heard someone on the news say that rich foreigners sometimes pay to have babies stolen for them. God, I hope it's not something like that. You don't think you could be a target in a place like Grand Rapids.'
'It doesn’t do any good to speculate. You'll drive yourself crazy.'
Valerie nodded. 'I know. I need to let you do your job. Honestly, Serena, I'm pleased to have a woman on the case. All these men clomping around the house - to them, it's just another crime.'
'We all want to get Callie back,' Serena said.
'Yes, but you know what I'm going through. A man can't really understand. Do you have children yourself?' 'No.'
Valerie looked momentarily disappointed. 'Oh. I'm sorry. Please forgive me, I shouldn't be asking you questions like that. It just helps me to know who you are.'
'That's all right.'
'For the longest time, I thought I didn't want kids. But then my mom died, and thirty started looking big down the road. Suddenly, it was all I could think about.' She stared at the empty crib and rubbed away a tear that escaped from her eye. 'It took me three years to get pregnant. I had given up hope.'
Serena chose her words carefully. 'How did Marcus feel about having kids?'
'He had doubts. I had to convince him.' Her face darkened, and she looked away. 'I know what people are saying. About Marcus.'
'You shouldn't listen to anything they say on the news.'
'It's ridiculous. Mean. Marcus would never, never, never hurt Callie.' Her fists clenched. 'He loves her.'
'Of course.' 'Do people know how hurtful they are?' she asked.
'All I can tell you is to close your ears to the gossip. Focus on getting Callie back.'
'I suppose next they'll be saying I was involved,' Valerie said.
'No one thinks that. You were out of town.'
'But you checked, didn't you, Serena? You called the hotel. You made sure I was there.'
'Yes, we did,' Serena admitted. She added, 'Why were you in the city?'
'I had a nonprofit board meeting in Minneapolis. It went late. I wanted to drive back, but Marcus said the fog was getting bad. So I got a room.'
'He encouraged you not to come home?'
'Yes, he said he didn't want me out on the roads.' Valerie read Serena's face and said, 'See, you think that's suspicious when it's nothing. No one trusts anyone anymore. I guess we all hate to face the horror of finding out that people aren't who they pretend to be.'
'I do need to ask you some personal questions,' Serena said.
Valerie winced, almost as if expecting a physical blow. 'Yes, go ahead.'
'If a stranger did this, they knew things about you and Marcus and Callie and your lives. The crime was carefully planned. Whoever did this was able to get into your house, find Callie, and leave quickly and quietly, as if they knew where she slept.'
'So you want to know how this person knew all these things.'
'Exactly.'
'You don't think it was a stranger, do you?'
'I don't know. It's possible that someone has been watching you and gathering information about your life. But that's not easy to do in a small town without being noticed. It's also possible that someone who knows you gave up information to the wrong person without being aware of it.'
'Well, I think if someone had been watching our house, I'd know it. You're right about small towns. Nothing gets past anyone around here. I also think that if a stranger had been asking questions about us, we'd have heard about it.'
'And there's been nothing like that?' 'No.'
'Forgive me, Valerie, but I need to know. What's your marriage like? Are there any problems?'
Valerie stared at the ceiling. 'Is this really necessary?'
'It is. I wish it weren't.'
Valerie twisted the square-cut diamond ring on her finger. She studied Serena with the eye of a woman admiring another woman. 'You're beautiful, Serena. You know what it's like.'
'What do you mean?'
'A beautiful woman can't have any substance. People look at me, and they think, trophy wife. Come on, that was your first reaction, wasn't it? Marcus didn't marry me, he hired me to dress up the place.'
'I don't think that,' Serena told her.
'Well, that was the general consensus in town,' Valerie said. 'I was twenty-five when we got married. I'm not a fool. I know I'm attractive, and when you're a man like Marcus, you don't settle for anything less. Are there days when I feel more like a portrait on the wall than a living, breathing human being? Yes. Sure. But the truth is much more complicated than people think. I love him. He loves me.'
Serena thought she was trying to convince herself that it was true. 'You've been married for eight years?'
'Yes.'
'Have there been any affai
rs?'
'I don't see what that has to do with Callie,' Valerie said.
'Probably nothing, but I don't know what's relevant and what's not until I know everything.'
'You have an ugly job, Serena. I guess I see why Denise didn't want to do this.' She added, 'I feel pretty worthless compared to my sister, l our kids and the kind of job she has. Talk about strong. I'm fragile compared to her. Of course, she has Tom to help her, and he's a gem.'
'You didn't answer my question.'
'No, I didn't, did I? All right, yes, there have been other women. Flings. Men look at these things differently. When you're a wife, you have to decide if it matters or not, and I just decided that it didn't. At least until Callie came along.'
'Were there any relationships that were more than a fling?' Serena asked. 'Someone who wasn't just a one-night stand?'
Valerie's lower lip trembled. 'Yes. Last year.'
'Who was it?'
'I don't know. Someone at the hospital. I made a point of not knowing who.'
'How did you find out about it?'
Valerie sighed. 'How hard do you think it is? How many times do you have to smell the same perfume on his clothes and in your bed? How many hang-ups do there have to be on your phone?'
'I'm sorry.'
'When Callie was born, I made him end it,' Valerie said. 'I didn't want any details. I just wanted it over.'
'And he stopped seeing her?'
'Yes, he did.'
'Are you sure?'
'No, but if he's being deceitful, he's much better at it now than he used to be. And honestly, I don't think Marcus would bother hiding it.'
'Do you think this woman was in your house?' Serena asked.
'I'm pretty sure she was, yes.'
'Could she have a key?'
Valerie shrugged, as if the weight on her shoulders had grown impossible to bear. 'I have no idea. As far as I know, Marcus, Migdalia, and I are the only ones who have keys.'
'Migdalia is your babysitter?' Serena asked.
'Yes.'
'Tell me about her.'
The Burying Place Page 5
