It dawned on her that Ellie might have seen Trace leaving. “You didn’t by any chance see my boyfriend this afternoon, did you?”
Ellie shook her head. “What’d he do, go out and forget to tell you? Men can be so thoughtless sometimes.”
“I guess maybe he went out with some friends. You didn’t see any strangers around earlier, did you?”
“Sorry. I was at work and then I took Ranger here for a walk. Hey, since your boyfriend’s not here, why don’t you join me? I’ve got wine and a frozen pizza I was going to put in the oven. Nothing fancy, but I’m kind of tired of dinners alone.”
“Oh, thanks. But I can’t.” Chloe wanted to blurt out everything that happened. She longed to talk to someone, because keeping the fear bottled inside her was making her ill. But she knew that would be a very bad idea.
“Sure you can. Leave a note and tell him to come on down when he gets home.”
“No, really. But thanks.” Chloe started up the stairs, then turned. “My name’s Chloe, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, Chloe. Maybe another time, okay?”
“Yeah, maybe.” Trace would have a cow if Chloe got friendly with one of their neighbors. He didn’t like nosy neighbors.
*****
When night settled in and Trace still hadn’t come home, Chloe’s panic grew.
Her mind raced. He’d been hurt. Or killed. Or kidnapped. Or—and she couldn’t believe it hadn’t crossed her mind until now—arrested. Would he give the cops her name? Tell them how she’d been the one to take the DA’s gym bag and how she’d driven the getaway car?
They could be coming to arrest her any minute now.
How could she explain what she’d done? She hadn’t known that Trace was going to rob a store, hadn’t known he had a gun. But she hadn’t called the cops, either.
She felt as though she were drowning. She was going under and there was nothing to grab on to. She felt her stomach rise up. She made it to the bathroom just in time. When she finished throwing up, she sank down on the floor and leaned against the toilet.
Her baby would be born in jail. What did they do with babies whose mothers and fathers were in prison? Tears filled her eyes and the vomit stung her throat. She put her hands to her belly but the words would not come. How could she promise her child anything?
Chapter 14
Joel Richards added the file he’d been reading to the stack at the side of his desk, then drained the remains of coffee from his cup. His fourth or fifth cup since breakfast. Definitely more than he was used to. He’d never be able to sleep tonight. Probably wouldn’t have slept anyway. The Miranda Saxton murder had his mind racing, his nerves tingling, and his eyes seeing double. It intrigued him for reasons he didn’t quite understand. Maybe because it happened locally, and Joel knew the geography and some of the folks who’d been involved in the investigation back then. Or maybe it was something about Miranda that captured Joel’s imagination. And he didn’t think it was just that she was Senator Saxton’s daughter.
He’d spent last night and this morning poring over the files Skeet Birnbaum had given him—newspaper clippings mostly, but photos and court documents as well. It had taken a while to absorb it all, but Joel thought he had a pretty clear outline of what had happened that night twenty years ago.
Miranda had disappeared the Saturday night of Labor Day weekend. She’d been at a beach bonfire, an end-of-the-summer celebration attended by twenty or so of the college students who’d been working at the St. John compound and nearby resorts. It had been one of those hot, humid days, but by evening a breeze had come up and everyone was feeling newly energized.
She’d spent most of the evening dancing with one of the local boys, Brian Riley, son of the county sheriff. Nobody could recall if he’d actually been invited or simply shown up, but no one really cared. It was the end of the summer and they were out to have a good time. One person more or less didn’t really matter.
Alcohol had flowed freely, and Miranda was as tipsy as anyone else, but not, according to others in attendance, drunk. None of them remembered seeing her leave, but an older couple vacationing at a neighboring beach house reported seeing a boy and girl sitting by the water’s edge a little before midnight, arguing. Their description of the pair fit Miranda and Brian. No one remembered seeing Miranda after that, and no one saw Brian until he stumbled home at four the next morning, igniting the anger of his father.
Joel could easily imagine the scene. Even now, you could walk along the beach any warm weekend evening in summer and see bonfires and parties that were magnets for young people—mostly the tanned preppy types who took cushy summer jobs as lifeguards and tennis instructors at the upscale resorts, but sometimes locals as well, the kids who worked the less glamorous jobs bussing tables and cleaning rooms. Joel had not been part of that crowd, even when he was younger—he’d spent his vacations helping out on his father’s fishing boat instead—but he’d spent many a lonely evening back when he was in high school watching the smooth, bronzed bodies, and wishing he could be one of them.
In the initial days after Miranda disappeared there was talk of a kidnapping or accidental drowning, but it wasn’t long before suspicion focused on Brian Riley. His father recused himself from the investigation and Brian was arrested ten days later.
Brian claimed to have left Miranda on the beach around twelve-thirty. He explained that she’d wanted to stay and enjoy her last night of summer and had refused to leave. He offered no details about where he’d been or what had happened in the hours between then and his arrival home, except to say that he’d wandered around a bit and then fallen asleep on a bench near the town pier.
He was charged with murder, but despite pressure from the Saxton family, the charges were eventually dropped. The district attorney declined to pursue the case, explaining that the evidence was insufficient to go to trial. A few people close to Brian maintained he was innocent of any wrongdoing, but the general consensus was that his father had called in favors, and that Brian had gotten away with murder.
The case made headlines across the nation as well as locally. And people were angry. There were calls for an ethics investigation and for a grand jury inquiry, and a movement to recall the district attorney, but in the end none of it amounted to anything. The story faded from the headlines as other scandals and crimes emerged.
Joel studied the photos in the clippings. They were mostly of Miranda. Her high school graduation photo, snapshots of vacations and holidays from the family album, including one taken by her father the morning of the day she disappeared. Miranda had been a beauty, all right. Honey-blond hair that wisped around a flawless, heart-shaped face. Her skin was clear, her teeth straight and white, her eyes and smile as bright as an evening star. Why was it, Joel wondered, that people of privilege never had unattractive children?
There were only two photos of Brian Riley in the file. One was his high school graduation photo, which had run in the local paper and some of national papers. The other was his booking photo. Brian was dark-haired and intense, with deep-set eyes and an angular face. He wasn’t a bad-looking kid, but certainly not the type you’d picture with a beauty like Miranda. Joel knew what that was like. He’d known since eighth grade that some girls were simply off limits to guys like him.
Brian had been eighteen that summer, Miranda seventeen, almost seven years younger than Joel was now. In the photos they were kids. It was strange to think they’d now be nearing forty. Had she lived, Miranda would still be lovely, Joel would bet on that. She’d have a handsome, successful husband and a couple of gorgeous kids. And Brian? What was he like now?
Maybe he had a frumpy wife and gangly kids. Or maybe he’d married someone like Miranda and was now a successful entrepreneur. Either way, his comfortable life was about to change. With the discovery of Miranda’s remains, the authorities wanted to question him again.
Joel checked his watch. He’d attended the official press conference that morning along with probably t
wenty other media folks from all over the country—a conference during which nothing new was revealed. But thanks to Skeet Birnbaum, he also had an appointment at three o’clock with Chief Holt at police headquarters. If there was inside information to be had, Joel would get first crack.
It was now almost two and Joel hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He put the file aside. He’d pick up a bite to eat and then go see what he could learn from Holt.
*****
“So, Joel,” Chief Holt said, gesturing for Joel to sit. “You’ve pulled the story of Miranda’s bones. Ought to get you some front-page exposure.”
Holt was married to Skeet Birnbaum’s sister. In addition, both men had grown up locally, so they had an intertwined past that made Joel dizzy whenever Birnbaum made reference to it. A solidly built man who’d put on a few extra pounds around the middle over the years, Holt’s gray hair was trimmed short and neat, his shirt pressed as though it had come directly from the cleaners.
Joel sat in the chair Holt indicated. “Yes, sir. It’s bound to be a story that gets people’s attention.”
“You got that right. You were there this morning. That was the biggest damn crowd of media types I’ve seen at a press conference around here since the girl went missing twenty years ago.”
“Not a lot happens in Littleton. In terms of news.”
“Right. And that’s the way I like it. So, what can I do for you? Skeet want you to pick my brain for stuff that’s not public knowledge?”
Joel smiled. “Something like that.”
“Wish I could oblige, son. But we got rules.” Holt winked. “Though off the record, there isn’t much I could tell you anyway. A skull and a few bones isn’t a lot to go on.”
“Could you determine how she died? Or where? I mean was it near where her, uh, remains were found?”
“Coroner hasn’t issued a full report, but with a homicide this old, my guess is that he won’t be able to learn more than he knows now. There’s a depression in her skull like she fell or was hit with a blunt object, but that’s not to say she wasn’t strangled or stabbed or shot too. We’ve secured the area and have officers going over it with a fine-tooth comb. Maybe we’ll find something that tells us more. But probably not. What’s important is that we’ve been able to identify the skull as belonging to Miranda Saxton. I suppose that might bring closure for her family if you believe that sort of stuff. Personally, I find closure is an overrated thing.”
Despite Holt’s insistence on rules, he’d already revealed a bit more than he had this morning at the press conference. Joel felt emboldened.
“What about her killer?” he asked. “You said this morning that you’re taking a fresh look at all the evidence.”
Holt nodded. “A crime twenty years old and no physical evidence to speak of doesn’t hold out much promise, but the ‘fresh look’ stuff sounds nice. People like to hear that.” Holt leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Back then I was sure Brian Riley was involved, and I’m just as sure now.”
“Why? Because he was the last person seen with her?”
“That’s part of it. Word was, he and the Saxton girl were going at it pretty hot and heavy. Way I figure it, she wouldn’t put out and he got angry.”
“Was he a known troublemaker?”
“Not officially, no. But everyone who knew him said he had a temper. I’d met him, of course—his dad was my boss back then—but I didn’t really know the kid. It was kind of an uncomfortable position for me to be in, arresting my boss’s son, but Sheriff Riley made it clear he wanted me to run a clean investigation with no special favors.”
“Does that mean you’ll arrest Brian Riley again?”
“We have to find him first.”
Holt hadn’t really answered the question about arrest, but Joel let it go. “Somebody must know where he is.”
“You’d think so. But we haven’t found that person.”
“What about family?”
“No family left. Brian’s mom died when he was a freshman in high school. His dad committed suicide less than a year after Miranda disappeared.”
That was news to Joel, though hardly an inside scoop. “Why?”
Holt shook his head. “A sad, sad thing. He was the sheriff, remember. He wanted a clean investigation, but I know he was humiliated to have his son charged with murder. Even after Brian got off, everyone believed he was guilty, maybe even the old man. And the town turned on him. Accused him of using his clout to get his son off.”
“Did he?”
“Not a chance. Sheriff Riley didn’t have that kind of power. And the DA would never have bowed to it if he had. But people tend to believe the worst. They love a good scandal. Things got pretty ugly.”
“Couldn’t Sheriff Riley simply have moved out of town?”
“He could have but he wasn’t that kind of man. He took his service revolver and shot himself.”
Joel thought of his own father, now in the grips of dementia. But before his mind faded, he’d been so proud of Joel. Proud of every meaningless accomplishment Joel had achieved from kindergarten on through college graduation. He’d even claimed to be proud that Joel wanted to be journalist, although Joel knew his father had hoped for something grander. Joel hated to think how hurt his dad would have been if Joel had been in Brian’s shoes. And if he’d killed himself because of it? How did a son live with that?
“How terrible,” Joel said, feeling truly shaken.
“The boy, Brian, was the one who found him. I always wondered if the old man planned it that way.”
Joel shuddered. “Any question about it being suicide?”
“You can bet we looked real closely at that one, but the evidence was clear. He also wrote out a note. Brian Riley left town not long after. He didn’t keep in touch with anyone but a few friends, and gradually that faded, too.”
“Maybe he’ll turn himself in,” Joel said hopefully. “Doesn’t remorse catch up with people sometimes?”
“It’s a possibility I guess. More likely, we’ll have to track him down, and I suspect that will take a lot of time. Years maybe. This story of yours isn’t going to have an ending any time soon.”
Chapter 15
“The thing is,” Diana said, “the address on Bayo Vista has to be important. It was written by someone other than Roy in the margin of a newspaper supplement dated the day he was shot.”
“You’re sure the supplement was from that Sunday?” Len asked.
“I double-checked the date.”
Allison frowned. “So you think someone wrote down the address for Roy?”
Diana nodded. “And there was an open map of San Francisco in Roy’s car.”
They were sitting around the glass-topped table in Allison and Len’s kitchen, finishing off the bottle of merlot they’d shared over Chinese takeout. Jeremy had devoured half the order of pot stickers and then gone into the den to watch The Land before Time, one of the numerous DVDs Allison kept on hand for such occasions. Over the hum of the refrigerator, Diana could hear muted sounds from the movie.
She felt vaguely guilty for not heading home immediately after picking up Jeremy, but by the time Roy’s Lexus had been towed, the windshield replacement had been scheduled, and Len had driven her home to get her own car, she hadn’t had the strength to endure one more challenge. She’d welcomed Allison’s invitation to stay for dinner. Now, after a satisfying meal and several glasses of wine, Diana was finally able to focus on the underlying reason for her excursion that afternoon. Not that focusing brought her any closer to understanding what Roy had been doing at a convenience store in a bad part of San Francisco when he was supposed to be playing golf in Oakland.
Diana sighed. “If it was connected to something at work, he would have told me. So what was he doing there?”
“Could it have been about drugs?” Len’s high, wide brow grew furrowed.
Allison looked at him like he was nuts. “Roy and drugs? Are you kidding?”
“Just tryin
g to come up with ideas,” Len said.
“I thought of that, too,” Diana offered. “But Allison is right. Roy is the last person I’d suspect of being involved with drugs.”
He had been carrying five thousand dollars and, apparently, his gun, so anything was possible. But Diana hadn’t shared that information with anyone, and she couldn’t bring herself to do so now.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Len aligned his chopsticks on the edge of his plate. “Have you noticed anything unusual lately?”
“What do you mean?”
“About Roy. How has he been? More distracted? Worried?”
“Not really.” Diana wasn’t being completely honest but she didn’t want to air their dirty laundry for Len, even though it was likely that Allison had privately relayed some of what Diana told her. Besides, what did being impatient and short-tempered have to do with an inexplicable trip to a crummy neighborhood? Or, for that matter, what would being involved with someone named Mia have to do with it?
“With luck, the police will figure it out,” Allison said. “You’ve got more important things to deal with right now.”
Diana knew she should tell Inspector Knowles about the address, but if Roy had been involved with another woman, or with some shady activity, did she really want that known?
She set the last of her wine aside. “I’d better head home. Poor Digger will wonder what happened to us. I appreciate the dinner, the ride, and the moral support. I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.”
“You want me to pick Jeremy up from school again?” Allison asked.
“No, thanks. He hasn’t been to visit Roy yet. I told him I’d take him this afternoon but that obviously didn’t work out. I figure we’ll do it tomorrow.”
Diana called Jeremy from the den, and Allison walked them to the door.
“I can’t believe Len brought up drugs,” Allison said. “Sometimes I think he just opens his mouth without thinking.”
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