“Not Larry Strickland?” Diana poured a dash of olive oil into a skillet, then lit the fire under it. Somehow, she was not surprised.
“Shane Cutler, the youngest member of the hunting group. Youngest male member. The widow Strickland put me onto him. And, know what? I believe her.”
As she whipped up the eggs and poured them into the hot skillet, Rogart’s conversation about Lori jumped into Diana’s mind, this time with a completely different connotation. “What’s he like?” she asked, adding the other ingredients to Jess’s dinner.
“He’s an asshole!”
“Understood. But what’s he like?”
“Like a redneck asshole. Don’t you have any pepperoni?”
“How about some tofu turkey?”
Jess made a face, then continued, “The guy’s a techy type. Runs a computer store. Could have a connection to the equipment in your house. Maybe all the buds are in on it. Maybe the feud between Rogart and Flannigan is bogus.”
Diana pondered that one. If true, Flannigan deserved an acting award. She wasn’t sure what Rogart deserved.
“Hey,” reminded Jess, “don’t burn my omelet.”
* * *
Later, Jess and Diana sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the fireplace, nursing snifters of cognac before a crackling fire. With Jess fed and conversation about diverse possibilities with the hunting buddies exhausted, Diana’s thoughts returned to Jess’s background check on Rogart—information that she’d failed to include in the initial package she’d turned over to Diana.
“Are you sure there’s nothing in Rogart’s past that might shed some light on this?” she asked.
Jess shook her head slowly. “Mind if I crash here? I am beat.”
“No problem,” replied Diana. “Just think back a bit. You had a pretty complete sheet on Flannigan. Family background, the usual stuff.”
Jess nodded sleepily. Diana wouldn’t let her off the hook. “Where did Rogart come from? Does he have relatives? Was Brandi his first wife? Do you know any of that?”
Jess paused to consider the questions, took a sip of her cognac. “Upstate New York,” she began. “Family moved to Colorado when he was pretty young. Grew up around Castle Rock. No record of any other marriages.”
“Siblings?” asked Diana.
Jess took another drag on the cognac. “Brothers. Two, older as I recall. And a sister. Younger.”
Something in her tone brought Diana fully awake. “Did you interview any of these people?”
Jess looked into the cognac snifter. “I located the two brothers. Nasty bastards. Said they didn’t keep in touch with their little brother. They were weirdos. Not at all like Darren came across…at first.”
“What about the sister?” Diana asked.
Placing the empty snifter on the hearth, Jess shook her head. “Pathetic. She was an obese cow. When I mentioned Darren, she slammed the door in my face.”
Diana sat upright. “Didn’t you find that reaction worth mentioning?”
“Not at the time.” In the firelight, Diana saw concern creeping into Jess’s expression. “I just thought how hard it must be, to look like that…and have a brother who looked like Darren.”
“Are you aware,” Diana began softly, “that one of the defenses abused women use is the destruction of their own bodies? Sometimes it’s done with food.”
Jess slowly unfurled her six feet, stretched and shook her head. “Diana, he has certificates of commendation for bravery. He’s the cop they sent in to interview rape victims because of his sensitivity. I should analyze his sister? Gimme a break.”
Diana arose also, and the two proceeded into the kitchen where they rinsed their glasses and set them aside. Rogart questions still popped up in Diana’s head like carnival targets. “Did you interview any of Rogart’s fellow officers?” she asked.
“Yeah, in fact I did. To a man, they spoke highly of him.”
“Ah,” replied Diana, pointing finger at Jess gotcha-style. “What about the women he worked with? Did they corroborate his sensitivity?”
Jess muffled a giggle.
“Okay, what? Did I say something funny?” Diana started the dishwasher. A harrumph of gushing water drowned out Jess’s response.
Jess tried again. “I said, when I mentioned his name, they just smiled.”
“That does it. You know where the guest room is. And the linen closet. Get your own sheets.”
As she climbed the stairs, she could hear Jess laughing softly a few steps behind her.
Chapter 36
Diana parked the rented car about a quarter of a mile from the Flannigan residence. She chose a small park where trees were leafing out in the lengthening March days, and patches of green grass were expanding against brown backgrounds.
Hers was the only vehicle in the gravel parking area. The chains to the kiddy swings hung motionless. The park was empty except for a pair of black squirrels playing tag in the Scotch pines. Kids were in school at this hour, and it was still too cold for most young mothers to take their little ones out to play.
She wore sunglasses and had tucked her auburn hair under a baseball cap. Two can play at this game, Mr. Flannigan.
Darren Rogart hadn’t called since the night they’d had dinner at her house. Part of her thought this was just as well. Especially so since Jess’s discovery that he also seemed to be on intimate terms with the Widow Strickland.
In the light of day, she was unwilling to embrace Jess’s theory that all the hunting buds were in on something nefarious. A part of her—one Diana wished she could eradicate—still held on to the irrational hope that Rogart was the victim of circumstance and his father-in-law’s wrath. The fact that he had a fat sister didn’t mean he’d abused her, did it?
What couldn’t be denied was the probability that Shane Cutler, not Larry Strickland, had seduced Lori Rogart. If Rogart had known about the seduction, that meant he’d lied about the “sick” trade-off between Flannigan and Strickland. It would explain why Rogart was unwilling to call what happened to Lori “rape.” If these things were true, he was an unfit father, just as Flannigan had said. An alley cat, like Greg. She made herself look at the mounting body of evidence.
And she thought of her parents. In spite of everything she knew, she was repeating her mother’s mistake. Winston was right. The only difference between Darren and Greg was the packaging.
But she couldn’t shake the thought of the children involved. Especially Lori. Who else had known about Shane Cutler’s role in Lori’s…what should she call it, if not rape? Not Joe Flannigan. She was convinced he was incapable of faking the outrage he’d shown. But that didn’t make him any better than his son-in-law—still an abuser and a stalker, who had maybe killed the wrong man, Strickland, for the wrong reasons. Or at least helped his daughter hide from justice after she killed Strickland. Diana had to catch Rena Flannigan alone. Rena and the Rogart children needed protection.
According to their plan, Jess would be scoping out the Rogart residence in Franktown about now. She hoped that between them, they could come up with some evidence that could be taken to the authorities with the reasonable expectation that the appropriate agency would follow through to ensure the welfare of Rena and the children.
Movement in the Flannigan driveway caught Diana’s attention as a woman’s small figure picked up what appeared to be a newspaper, then returned to the house. Kind of late for the morning paper, she thought.
The silver Ram wasn’t in the driveway as it had been on her previous visit. Did that only mean it was in the garage? She had no way of knowing.
Diana waited, trying to decide whether or not to approach the house. She glanced at her watch. Two-thirty. She pulled out her cell and pressed in Jess’s number.
“Anything?” asked Jess.
“His truck’s not here,” said Diana. “What about you?”
“I’m on a hill above the house. So far, no signs of life. Guess the kids are in school.”
“No Tri
sha?”
“No Trisha, no Darren. Tan truck in the driveway. They must sleep very late.” Jess ended with a wicked chuckle.
“I’ll keep you posted. You do the same.” Diana pulled the rented Honda Civic out of the park and headed toward the Flannigan residence. Even if Joe was there, what could he do besides yell at her?
When Rena Flannigan answered the door, Diana hardly recognized her—wouldn’t have if not for her beautiful dark eyes. Rena looked bloated. Like she’d put on weight. A blue scarf covered her head. No long braid peeked out below it.
“Mrs. Flannigan, remember me? I’m--”
“I remember you, Mrs., Martin.”
“Could we speak? Privately?”
Rena stood blocking the entrance. “Go ahead.” Rena’s expression told her nothing. Tired was the only message she was getting. Diana looked nervously behind herself, then into the room.
“He’s not likely to be back anytime soon,” said Rena, “if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Diana blinked, not knowing how to respond at first. “May I come inside?”
Rena opened the door wider, then stood aside, her only invitation a curt jerk of her head. Diana entered the house with trepidation. She belatedly thought of her car parked outside for Flannigan to see. Though he wouldn’t know it was her car, until he let himself in the house—maybe through a back door…
I’ll never make a good detective.
“What is it you want?” She didn’t invite Diana to sit down. Or offer her coffee.
They stood just inside the front door, in the entry hall. Diana could see the trophy heads in the living room. More of them than she remembered. Though the house smelled clean and fresh, she felt overpowered by the animal heads, imagined the odor of dead carcasses.
“I wanted to talk to you about your grandchildren. And your husband,” Diana finally began.
“Thanks to you, we hardly ever see Lori and Keith,” said Rena. “You want t’ know about Joe? His heart is so broke over it all that he goes off for hours…sometimes days…into the mountains to grieve for our daughter. And the grandkids we can’t even visit.” Tears welled in Rena’s eyes. Her lower lip began to quiver.
She’s ill. Stress can do that.
“I never meant to add to your pain. Darren Rogart just took the kids. I didn’t help him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Rena shook her head. “That’s not what I’m thinkin’.” Fatigue seemed to overtake her as she walked unsteadily into the living room and sat down on a leather sofa.
Diana followed her and took a seat opposite, facing the front window. “There’s talk in Westcliffe that your daughter may still be alive. And that your husband knows it.”
Rena shook her head vehemently. “That makes no sense.”
“Is it possible that a mistake was made about who assaulted Lori?”
“Mistake?” Rena rose up from the sofa, then sank back down. “No mistake! My daughter knew who had Lori. She heard him on the phone with Darren.”
“But your husband told me it was Larry Strickland. My friend Jess has reason to believe it was someone else.”
Rena’s mouth dropped open. She looked confused as she slowly replied, “Not Larry? But…when she dropped off Keith…”
“Did your daughter tell you she heard Larry on the phone with Darren?”
Rena shook her head, her expression wild and searching. “I just assumed…because they found Lori in his cabin…”
“What did Brandi tell you?”
“She brought Keith over about nine o’clock at night. Told me about hearin’ Darren on the phone and knowin’ who had Lori. She wanted Joe t’ go with her, but he was at AA.” Tears coursed down Rena’s puffy cheeks. “We tried his cell, but he didn’t pick up. I wanted t’ call the police, but she wouldn’t have it. See, they never did take her serious. She said she had to find Lori with the guy before they’d believe her. They got so many runaway girls, and who knows what Darren told his cop buddies.”
Diana got up and went to Rena, put a hand on her arm. What she was about to say seemed cruel, but Diana couldn’t think of any way to avoid it. “There’s talk in Westcliffe that your husband may be helping your daughter hide out.”
A flood of absolute disbelief crossed Rena’s face. “No. I’d know if that was goin’ on. Joe’s no good at hidin’ anythin’. It’d be all over that big Irish face o’ his. No.” Rena buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
“You love your husband. In spite of--”
Rena’s face screwed up in a frown as her fists pushed away the tears. “In spite o’ what?”
“I saw the bruises, Rena. I heard him yell at you.”
“What’s a little yellin’? I can yell too, if I’ve a mind to.” The dark eyes flashed, cutting Diana down. “You wanna know about the bruises? I got leukemia.” Rena jerked off the scarf. Diana stared at her bald head. “See what chemo does, Mrs. Martin? The bruises didn’t come from Joe. It’s the leukemia done it. He never laid a hand on me or Brandi.”
Chapter 37
How could I have gotten it so wrong?
“It wasn’t just the bruises and Joe’s yelling,” said Diana. “You acted…scared…nervous. Rena, you even spilled the coffee, you were so upset.”
“How could you know? The doctor’s office called just a minute before you got here. They had my test results. Joe didn’t know. I thought it might finish him off.”
Diana lowered her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m still alive. Beats the alternative.” Rena managed a feeble smile. “Hair’ll grow back.” She put the scarf back on. “I can brew some coffee if you like.”
“I don’t want to trouble you…any more than I already have.”
Rena got up. “No trouble. Let’s go to the kitchen.” Diana got up tentatively, then glanced again through the front window.
“He really won’t be back anytime soon. I often wish it wa’n’t so, but it is. Now that the weather’s warmin’ up, I imagine he’ll be gone for days at a stretch.”
In the kitchen, Rena put water and coffee in the enamel-covered coffee maker, and then set it on the stove to brew. She turned and fixed Diana in her dark gaze. “Darren Rogart is evil, Mrs. Martin. He catches women like a spider does flies.”
Diana shuddered inwardly. Another voice. The same refrain. Not proof.
“How did Darren get involved with your daughter?” asked Diana. She pushed out the words, trying to wrap her brain around a line of questioning that would rid her of that sticky feeling—the feeling she got when she ran into a spider web.
Rena took a seat across from her and folded her hands. “Joe blames himself for that, too.” She paused to reach up and smooth out the scarf on her head. “When Brandi was fifteen, her bicycle got stole in Denver. She called her daddy in tears. Joe took off for the mall where she was and called the Denver cops. Guess who they sent?”
Diana filled in the obvious. “A handsome young officer named Darren Rogart.”
“Only he wasn’t as young as he looked. Darren was thirty-one and Brandi, only fifteen. He wormed his way into our family like he does whenever he wants somethin’. Like he did with Joe’s huntin’ pals. Pretty soon they were Darren’s and Joe was just some old fogy to ‘em. Anyhow, before we knew it, our little girl was pregnant. But Darren said he wanted t’ do the right thing. How’d we know it would’ve been better if she’d just had the baby? I’d’a raised Lori. You know how many times we wished we’d just gone and bought her a new bike, never made that call?”
“Don’t blame yourself. He seems to be…a professional charmer.”
“More like a male whore,” said Rena as she got up to check on the coffee. “Hasn’t had a real job since he got out o’ jail.”
Her frankness surprised Diana. Before she could comment, Rena continued, “She was gonna divorce him for sure this time. That much she told me the night she went after Lori. She told him before she left, but she didn’t tell him what set it off—didn’t want
no chance of him tellin’…if it wasn’t Larry, who then?”
“I probably shouldn’t be dropping names. Especially since it’s just a rumor,” Diana backpedaled. “You said ‘this time,’ like she’d been on the verge of divorce before.”
Rena took two colorful mugs from a rack on the countertop and poured coffee into them, then carried them to the table.
When the women were again eye-to-eye, Rena nodded. “Many times. In fact, it was when he got sent away for poachin’ that we first heard about you.”
“What do you mean?”
Rena smiled slowly. “Through your law professor. Winston Bell.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Did you know Joe was Winston’s sponsor in AA?” asked Rena.
Diana shook her head. If asked, she’d have guessed it was the other way around. Something in her expression put a frown on Rena’s face.
“You think you got my Joe pegged as some dumb hick.”
Diana shook her head vehemently. “No, I--”
“Joe’s got a degree in chemical engineering from Oklahoma State. He didn’t just sit on his butt and watch them oil royalties pour in.”
“That’s not what I thought,” Diana lied.
Rena cocked her head, and with a look that said she knew better, continued, “Winston got in some trouble with drink after his wife died. It hit him real hard. Then he joined the program, Joe became his sponsor and they got real close.”
“I thought these things were supposed to be confidential,” interrupted Diana. She hadn’t known about Winston’s wife, hadn’t known he’d ever been married.
Another sideways glance from Rena. “They are. Like my granddaughter’s rape. Trouble is they don’t stay that way. Anyhow, Joe opened up to Winston when Darren went to jail and lost his job. When Brandi started talkin’ about divorce, we jumped on it like a hen on a June bug. Joe thought maybe Winston could recommend somebody and he sure did—you. That man thinks most highly of you, Diana. That’s why it was so hurtful when you turned us down on the custody suit.”
The Trophy Hunter Page 16
