He agreed.
She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I’ll make an excuse for you. I’ll get rid of them. Emergency state business or something.”
“Don’t bother. He’s a lieutenant governor. He’d see through that. Besides, there’s nothing for me to do right now at the house anyway.” No matter where the Kane siblings lived, the Victorian mansion in which they had grown up would always be known to each of them as the house. “The police will be searching for a couple more hours at least. We’re almost done with dinner now. I can make it through the rest.”
“Even if we have to listen to another of Larry’s war stories?” she asked with a small smile, referring to the lengthy narratives with which New Jersey’s lieutenant governor had been regaling them all evening, tales from his days as a prosecutor doing battle with the Jersey mafia.
He smiled back, which took some effort. “Go back to our guests, okay, Becca? I’ll be right there.”
He typed a text to Henry: Dinner will be over in a little while. I’ll be there right after.
He returned the phone to his pocket, glanced down the hall at the doorway to the dining room, then hurried in the opposite direction, toward the room at the back of the house that he used as an office. He lifted his briefcase from the floor, snapped it open, and looked down at the black cell phone in the plastic bag resting on top of several files.
The phone in his pocket vibrated again, this time just once. A text from Henry: Probably not a good idea. Don’t want anyone—cops, press—thinking you’re stepping in to interfere. Sit it out for now. I’ll keep you posted.
His first instinct was to resist, to speed through the rest of dinner, wolf down dessert, kick the Jersey blowhard and his wife out the door, then obliterate the speed limit on the way to the house in Manchester. But Henry was right; it wouldn’t be a good idea. Besides, appearance—more important than it probably should be in many aspects of life—was absolutely critical in politics. Andrew had ridden a hard-earned reputation for honesty and integrity all the way to the top position in Vermont’s government, decrying the corruption, kickbacks, and cronyism that had all but defined the administration of his predecessor. And if a number of political pundits were correct, he might actually ride that reputation all the way to the White House one day.
That certainly hadn’t been Andrew’s goal when he’d first stepped through the ropes and into the political ring, but others, including his wife, his political advisors, and the registered Democrats of Vermont had begun to dream of that for him. And, he realized, somewhere along the line, he had begun to share in that dream. He had never sought power for power’s sake. The apple had fallen a good distance from the tree in that regard. His father had relished the power and prestige that his long and distinguished career as a senator, and his even longer career as a feared, hard-nosed litigator, had bestowed upon him. But what drove Andrew was the thought of all that he could potentially accomplish as president, all that he had begun to believe he could offer this country. So he had to tread carefully right now. It would border on hypocrisy for him to stride into the criminal investigation of a family member and appear to be trying to intimidate the authorities by throwing around the weight of his office. He needed to trust Henry. He needed to let this play out. It wouldn’t be easy, though; Tyler was his little brother.
He typed a reply: I hear you. Call when you can.
He slipped the black phone—still in the plastic bag—into his front pants pocket, then returned to Rebecca and their guests.
He didn’t silence the mystery phone, as Henry called it. If it rang tonight, he wanted to make sure he heard it.
CHAPTER NINE
The search continued. A little before 10:00 p.m., Henry called a detective he knew, Ray Hodges, who had retired last year from Major Crime. In a quiet voice, he asked about Ramsey and Novak without saying why he was asking.
“They’re all right,” Hodges said. “Decent detectives.”
“Are they dicks? They seem like they might be dicks. Especially Ramsey.”
“They can be dicks. Especially Ramsey. But so can you. Me, too.”
“They’re good, though?”
“Good enough, yeah.”
He paused a moment. “Here’s a tough one . . . any reason to think they’d ever manufacture evidence?”
Hodges grew silent. “If you’ve got an IA investigation going on those guys, maybe I shouldn’t—”
“It’s nothing like that, Ray. I’m not asking as Internal Affairs. I’m just asking.”
Hodges said nothing for a moment. “I don’t see them doing anything like that. I really don’t. You never know, of course, but I don’t see it.”
“Okay.”
“What’s this about, Henry?”
“I’d rather not say right now. Maybe it’s nothing. But if it’s something, you’ll see it on the news tomorrow. Thanks again, Ray.”
Around 11:00 p.m., Tyler fell asleep on a divan. Henry thought it was called that, but it could have been a settee. Or hell, maybe it was just a second sofa.
A half hour later, Molly got a call on her cell phone from Julie, who was parked on the street in front of the house. She’d been out with friends and had just arrived home, only to see police cars in the driveway. Molly told her that they were searching the house. It was evident that Julie was concerned, but Molly walked a line between vague and reassuring and advised her to spend the night with another friend. She told Julie she’d call in the morning with an update.
Shortly before 1:00 a.m., Henry sensed a wave of excitement ripple through the cops in the house. They’d found something. He couldn’t imagine what—and he knew there was no point in asking—but whatever it was seemed to give them all hard-ons.
A while later, Henry heard a car rumble to a stop in the driveway. He parted the lacy curtains in the window behind him and watched Detective Novak exit the vehicle with more papers in his hand. Henry hadn’t noticed him leave earlier. This wasn’t a positive development. The front door opened, then closed. Low voices murmured in the foyer. Then Ramsey came into the drawing room carrying the papers Novak had brought, and Novak followed, a small laminated card in his hand.
Ah, hell. This was what Henry had feared.
With something resembling sympathy, Ramsey said to Henry, “You want to be the one to wake him up?”
Henry walked over to his brother, placed a hand on his shoulder, and gently shook him.
“Buddy? I need you to wake up.”
“What’s going on, Henry?” Molly asked.
“They’re arresting him.” As he had suspected when he saw Novak returning. Once they’d found whatever it was that had gotten everyone so excited, the detective had slipped out to get an arrest warrant, almost certainly returning to the same judge who had signed off on the search warrant. Novak had probably drafted most of the arrest warrant application hours ago and needed only to fill in a few blanks before getting the judge’s John Hancock.
“Arresting him?” Molly said. “For what? Murder? That’s ridiculous. It’s a joke.” She looked at the detectives. “This is bullshit, and you guys know it.”
“Molly . . .” Henry said.
“No, this is unbelievable. We know you guys don’t like Andrew. We know you’re pissed because he decreased your budget and got rid of a couple of dirty cops. So this is how you get back at him? Through his family? His younger brother?”
“Molly, don’t . . .”
To their credit, the detectives said nothing.
“You trump up a murder charge on a guy like Tyler, who can’t even bring himself to step on a spider? This is ridiculous.”
“Molly,” Henry said more sternly. She turned to him. “This isn’t the time. This isn’t the way.”
She clearly wasn’t finished. She opened her mouth to say something else, then shook her head and seethed in silence. Henry turned back to Tyler, who rubbed his eyes and sat up.
“You wide awake now, Tyler?”
“I gues
s.”
“You have to go with these men.”
“Where?”
“The police station.”
“Why? I was already there today. I already talked to them.”
“I know but . . . they’re arresting you.”
Tyler blinked a few times, frowned, then said, “Arresting me? They know what I did? They told me they knew, but I thought maybe they were just trying to trick me so I’d say something stupid. I didn’t know they really knew.”
What the hell?
“Tyler, you need to stop talking right now. Don’t say another word.”
“But if they know what I—”
“Damn it, Tyler, shut the hell up,” Henry yelled. He didn’t for a second believe that his brother had killed that woman, but apparently he had done something. Whatever it was, he really needed to stop talking about it.
Finally, Tyler closed his mouth. His lower lip trembled.
“I’m sorry, buddy,” Henry said, “but this is really important. I need you to stand up. You have to go with these men.”
Slowly, with a beseeching look at Molly, Tyler stood. Ramsey stepped forward, a pair of handcuffs in his hand.
“Turn around, please,” Ramsey said in a surprisingly gentle voice.
Novak looked down at the laminated card in his hand and began reading the Miranda warning.
“Henry?” Tyler said. “Molly?”
The confusion in his wide, innocent eyes . . . the tremor in his voice . . . broke Henry’s heart. Molly gripped his forearm, her nails digging in deep.
“Just go with them, okay?” Henry said, talking loud to be heard above Novak’s droning recitation of his brother’s rights under the law to remain silent, to have an attorney.
As he watched Ramsey handcuff his younger brother, Henry felt a nearly overpowering urge to twist the detective’s arm up behind his back until bones cracked like dry kindling and ligaments snapped like rubber bands. But the guy was just doing his job. Henry had done the same job countless times.
“Listen to me carefully, though, Tyler,” he said. “Pay attention now, because this is really, really important. Do not say anything. Not one word. You don’t talk to anyone but me, Molly, Andy, or your lawyer. You understand?”
“I need a lawyer?”
Both his hands were cuffed behind him now. A tear rolled down one cheek. Novak put the laminated card in his pocket.
“Yeah, Tyler, you need a lawyer. At least until we figure this out. But I need you to tell me that you understand what I’m saying, okay? Tell these men right now that you only want to speak with your lawyer.”
“What about you guys?”
“Just say it.”
He did as told. Ramsey shook his head, as if he expected more from a fellow officer, but it was just for show. Ramsey would have done the same thing in Henry’s shoes. Novak would have, too. As would anyone who knew anything about the criminal justice system.
“Where are you taking him?” Henry asked.
“Manchester PD lockup.”
It was Friday night. The courts were closed until Monday, which was the earliest Tyler could be arraigned. Which meant he would spend the weekend as a guest of the nearest jail.
Ramsey guided Tyler out of the room and down the hall toward the foyer with Novak towed along in their wake. Henry and Molly followed.
“Hey, Ramsey, don’t forget that Tyler’s not your typical guy,” Henry said. “Plus, he’s the governor’s brother. He needs protective custody. Or at least his own cell.”
Ramsey nodded, then opened the front door. Henry grabbed his arm, stopping him, and said, “Even though we’re all in our nice suits here, don’t forget that I wear blue, same as you.”
The detective glanced down at Henry’s hand on his biceps, and Henry removed it.
“I know,” Ramsey said. “We’ll take care of him.”
“Guys?” Tyler said.
Henry leaned close to Ramsey and said, very quietly, “Any chance I can stay with him through booking?”
“All due respect, Lieutenant, you’re kidding, right?”
“No, Detective, I wasn’t. But I hear you. I’ll get in to see him tomorrow, though. I promise you.”
“And if anyone tries to stop you tomorrow, it won’t be me. But tomorrow’s not tonight. Tonight I have to do things by the book, like I said. And that doesn’t include letting the suspect’s brother hold his hand through booking. Okay?”
Henry took a step back and watched the detectives escort Tyler down the porch steps and into the back seat of their car. Before Novak closed the door, Henry called, “Remember, Tyler, don’t tell them a thing.”
Despite a few brief moments of humanity and civility having bled through his cold, by-the-book demeanor tonight, Ramsey shot Henry a hard look as he slid behind the wheel of the sedan. Then they were gone, as were the local cops, who had left not long before.
“Henry?” Molly said. “What happened here? What the hell is this?”
“I don’t know. In the morning, you should call Rachel Addison. She’s the most expensive criminal defense lawyer in the best firm in the state. Most cops hate her, but only because she’s so good.”
Henry stepped out onto the porch.
“What are you going to do now?” she asked.
“No point in my trying to get in to see him tonight. Besides the fact that I’m obviously not welcome, it’ll be three in the morning before he’s processed.”
“So where are you going?”
“Into headquarters. I’ll stop by the Major Crime Unit. See if there’s anyone there who knows anything. It’s a long shot at this time of night, but you never know. If I come up empty, I’ll try again in the morning.”
She gave a tight, nervous nod. “I guess it’s time to call Andy.”
“I’ll do it. Remember, in the morning, call Rachel Addison. Throw money at her. This family has enough.”
“What if she doesn’t go into the office on Saturdays?”
“Given her reputation, she’ll be there. And if she’s not, they can find her. Tell her answering service the governor’s brother has been arrested and needs a lawyer. That’ll get her to the phone.”
“What if she’s not available?”
“Throw enough money at her, and she will be.”
CHAPTER TEN
As soon as he was in the car, Henry called Andrew and filled him in. He reiterated his belief that Andrew needed to stay away from this for the time being, and his brother reluctantly agreed.
“What about an alibi?” Andrew asked, the concern in his voice evident.
“This happened on Tuesday. As best as we can piece together, he was home alone at the time.”
“Doing what?”
“He thinks he was just watching TV.”
“And what do you think?”
“I don’t think he killed anyone, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Of course he didn’t. But you just said that until you got him to quiet down, he kept talking about having done something. What do you think that might have been about?”
Henry hesitated. “The victim supposedly got around.”
“And?”
“She supposedly got around for money sometimes.”
“You don’t think Tyler would have paid her to . . .”
“I doubt it. But who knows?”
They ended the call. A little while later, he arrived at state police headquarters in Waterbury, which housed his Internal Affairs office, as well as the Major Crime Unit. Vermont was a relatively quiet state at night, and at close to 2:00 a.m., headquarters was a ghost town. Unsurprisingly, the MCU was empty at that hour, with any calls that might come in being directed to the main switchboard. Henry had clung to a slim hope that he would find either Ramsey or Novak there, perhaps while the other saw to Tyler’s booking, but maybe they were both so dedicated as to want to be present for the processing. Or perhaps one of them went home to catch some sleep while the other—probably whichever was junior—ha
ndled the mundane task of seeing that Tyler made it into a cell.
Henry took the elevator to the second floor, passed through a common area and into the left-hand wing, and stopped at the second door on the left: the Internal Affairs Unit. He unlocked the door, which had to be kept locked at all times when he wasn’t there, and entered the office. He’d seen the space they devoted to IA units in cop shows and in movies, but his version wasn’t nearly as impressive: a single, somewhat cramped office; a desk with a computer and printer; two chairs facing his desk; and three file cabinets. He wished his unit’s budget could handle the installation of a urinal so he wouldn’t have to lock the door just to go down the hall every time he had to take a leak.
He slipped into the chair behind his desk, ignored the files stacked there—including the one on Thomas Egan, the dirty state police detective taking payoffs from drug dealers—and reached for the phone. He called Manchester PD and learned that, yes, Tyler Kane had been booked and was in his cell, and no, Henry wasn’t welcome to visit at this time, despite his status as a lieutenant with the VSP. He could call in the morning if he wished and inquire about visitation then. Henry wasn’t Tyler’s lawyer, of course. They didn’t necessarily have to let him see his brother before the arraignment on Monday. But he knew that the decision whether to allow the visit was within the discretion of the cops running the holding facility. He’d call in the morning and hope for a bit of professional courtesy for a brother in blue.
There was nothing more for him to do tonight. If he’d had room for a couch, he’d have slept in the office, but he didn’t, so he headed home to get what little sleep he could.
Hours later, Molly had given up any hope of sleep. She was too wound up. Too worried about Tyler. She doubted that he truly understood what was happening to him, or why it was happening. He had such an innocent soul . . . and she refused to believe anything to the contrary.
She hated the thought of him alone behind bars. She hated that she couldn’t be there with him. She was the one to whom he looked for comfort, and she felt an obligation to provide it as best she could. She would do that for any of her brothers, of course, but Tyler was different. She knew that some people thought that her need to protect him, to live with him and care for him, was simply a womanly, maternal instinct. Others probably thought their relationship was grounded in their special connection as twins. But it was more than that. Far more. Because, though she hated to admit it to herself—and she’d sure as hell never admitted it to anyone else—she felt responsible for the way Tyler . . . was. She never should have let him climb out onto the roof that day. But he was hell-bent on it, on impressing older brother Henry, like he was always trying to do. He had attempted a similar stunt once before, but Mrs. Gallagher had caught him. And she’d scolded him good. And though Molly had tried unsuccessfully to stop him that first time, Mrs. Gallagher had scolded her, too, because she was supposedly “the only one with common sense.” She’d also told Molly that if he tried such a thing again and Molly couldn’t stop him, she should run and get help from an adult; and if no adults were around, she should tell Andy, because Andy was the oldest.
A Blood Thing Page 5
