What she had done was reread the transcript—and then she’d seen what the problem was. The caller had said, “The thing is, you were real good to us. That’s why L..”
Amanda had assumed that what the caller had meant was that she’d chosen to call Amanda rather than the police because she knew her and was grateful to her. But after several rereadings, another meaning was suggesting itself to her: one that sent a chill through her even as she thought about it now. And it was that second meaning, she was sure, that had troubled Michael.
What if the caller’s real meaning was that she had contacted Amanda rather than the police because what she knew could cause problems for Amanda?
Still, it would have been easy for Amanda to dismiss that possibility if it weren’t for several other factors. First of all, there was Jesse’s continued interest in the case, now looming larger because Lise had reminded her that Jesse was home then and running around with a wild crowd.
And now there was Michael’s suspicion that John Verhoeven, Lise’s father, knew something. Michael had interviewed him this past weekend, while he was up from the city for his mother’s party. John had readily admitted to having spent time out at the island that winter and spring, but he’d insisted that he’d always gone alone and that he’d never seen anyone else out there.
Michael had told her afterward that his antennae were twitching, that he was pretty sure John had been lying about something. Under normal circumstances, Amanda would be inclined to trust his instincts, which were already legendary around police headquarters. But this time, she wasn’t so sure. Despite his protestations to the contrary, Amanda suspected that Michael would be delighted to nail someone in one of the families for the murder.
For her own part, Amanda conceded privately that John could be lying. Given his marital troubles at the time, it was certainly possible that he’d taken someone out there. But that someone could not have been a teenager—and certainly not a teenage hooker. Maybe Michael thought her naive, and maybe he was even right about that some of the time, but not about this. If John Verhoeven was lying, it was out of embarrassment or to protect the identity of his female companion.
She was nearly home when it suddenly occurred to her that perhaps there was a way for her to find out if she was right about John Verhoeven. John and her father were best friends, and had been all their lives. If John had been having an affair prior to his divorce, her father would likely have known about it.
She picked up her car phone and called her father, then turned around and drove up to the Hill. She let herself in with her own key and then went to the large, handsome study her father kept at one rear corner of the huge house.
Judge Thomas Sturdevant looked up over the rims of his glasses as she walked in, then slid some papers into a folder and stuffed them into the briefcase next to his leather chair. Amanda sat down on the cordovan leather sofa that faced his desk, and he leaned back in his chair.
“I believe I could use a cognac about now,” he said. “Will you have some?”
She got up. “I’ll get it and I’ll have some sherry myself.”
She walked over to the wall and pressed a button that opened a mahogany panel, behind which there was a small bar setup. Then she poured him some cognac and poured herself a small glass of sherry, thinking about how much she loved this house and how much Jesse loved it, too, and how that certainly posed some serious problems for the future. Her father knew that, as well, and his will left the house to them jointly. As he’d put it, they’d have to “sort it out” themselves. Fortunately, that day didn’t seem likely to arrive soon.
When she had given him his cognac and then seated herself again, he asked her about her campaign plans, and she was forced to confess that beyond naming a manager and a treasurer, she hadn’t yet done anything.
“I hate campaigning,” she said with a grimace.
“So do I, but it’s necessary. I’d managed to forget just how much I hate it until recently.”
She smiled sympathetically, knowing he was referring to his necessarily quiet but still intense campaigning for the Supreme Court. She asked what he thought his chances were.
“I think they’re quite good, actually. One candidate has already taken himself out of the running, and another may be out as a result of some financial questions. I’ve been told—just today, as a matter of fact—that I’m the leading candidate if the vacancy occurs.”
“Father, that’s wonderful!” Amanda exclaimed.
He smiled. “Let’s not get too excited. For all I know, the same person who told me that might be telling several others the same thing. But it did come from the White House—off the record, of course.”
They talked some more about campaigning, and Amanda could not help feeling both proud and happy with her father’s encouragement and praise—something she’d certainly seen little of during her childhood, when it seemed that all his attention had been focused on Jesse.
Finally, she got around to asking her question, after telling him about Michael’s interview with John Verhoeven.
“Michael’s very good, Father. I know he’s brash and aggressive, but he’s already practically a legend. So if he says that John wasn’t telling him the truth, I have to consider the possibility that he could be right.”
“It seems more likely to me that it’s wishful thinking on Lieutenant Quinn’s part. He’d like to pin that poor girl’s death on one of us because he hates us. Class envy can be a powerful thing.”
“I agree, and Michael himself has all but admitted that. But I still think it’s possible that John could be lying, though not for the reason Michael believes.”
She went on to tell him her theory, but her father was already shaking his head even before she finished.
“You’re wrong, Amanda. There were no other women in John’s life until after his divorce. In fact, it was nearly a year after that before he met Melinda. He was going out to the island that winter and spring, but he went alone. I offered to go with him once, but he said he wanted to be alone, so I respected that.”
He grimaced. “Quinn may have convinced himself that John is lying, but he isn’t. Don’t forget, Quinn interviewed me, as well, and his prejudices were very obvious.”
Amanda thought about telling him about the phone calls, but decided against it. She did however, mention Jesse’s interest in the case. But her father quickly dismissed that.
“You know how she is, Mandy. She’s always had this tendency to become obsessive at times. How could she possibly know anything relevant to the murder?”
Amanda told him Lise’s theory: that Jesse might have gone out there with some of her wild friends.
“I suppose that’s possible,” he admitted. “But I seriously doubt it. Mr. Thompson never found any evidence that kids were going out there.”
“ARE YOU READY to order yet?” the young server asked with what Amanda thought was a trace of impatience.
She glanced at her watch again, then at the small crowd around the bar, obviously waiting for tables. “Yes. I’m afraid I’ve been stood up.”
As soon as she had given him her order, Amanda took her cellular phone out of her purse and hit the automatic redial. After four rings, Jesse’s voice came on, asking her to leave a message. Since she’d already done that, Amanda hung up, then punched out her own number, followed by the code that allowed her to pick up messages. There were none. She hadn’t really expected any, since Jesse also had the number for her cellular phone.
Her sister was now nearly an hour late for their dinner date, and while this wasn’t unusual, Jesse had at least called to make her excuses in the past Amanda unfortunately thought she knew, not where Jesse was, but what she was doing, which was drinking.
Guilt washed over her as she wondered if her insistence that they meet and talk had precipitated a bout of drinking. But then she remembered the family-counseling sessions they’d gone through when Jesse was struggling to overcome her addiction. Alcoholics and other addicts we
re always very good at pushing the blame for their behavior onto other people—and family members in particular were all too willing to blame themselves.
Amanda had set an early dinner date, in part because that would give Jesse less time to start drinking after she closed her shop, and in part because she had intended to go from the restaurant to the P.D.’s office to continue her search of her old cases.
She had foolishly hoped to accomplish two things: to talk to Jesse about her drinking and urge her to get back into therapy, and to find out if in fact Jesse did know anything about the body found on the island. But in thinking about it now, she realized that it wasn’t likely she could have accomplished either thing, let alone both of them.
Her dinner came quickly and she ate just as quickly, all the while trying to decide what to do when she left here. It would be difficult, perhaps impossible, to focus on those records while she was worried about Jesse’s whereabouts. But she had no idea where her sister might have gone, either. Steve, her husband, might have been able to guess, but he was out of town and she had no way of reaching him.
After refusing dessert and requesting her check, Amanda decided to check Jesse’s home one more time. But there was still no answer, except for the machine. So she left the restaurant, still uncertain about what to do. Should she simply drive around, checking out the parking lots of all the upscale drinking spots?
She sighed, knowing from past experience that Jesse could be anywhere—even down in the Bottom, if she got drunk enough first. There was a recklessness to Jesse even when she was sober, and it got even worse when she’d been drinking.
Briefly, she thought about Michael. The truth was that she didn’t want to have to go into a bar alone—especially since she knew Jesse would probably make a scene. Without letting herself think too much about the possible consequences of enlisting his assistance, she picked up her car phone and called him at home. He wasn’t there, and she didn’t bother leaving a message. For all she knew, she might even run into him down there contacting his informants.
Before setting off to the Bottom, Amanda decided to try her home machine one more time. Jesse knew that number by heart, so if she called drunk, she would be more likely to use it than the mobile number.
She waited impatiently through her own message, then suddenly heard her sister’s voice. “Mandy, I need help. I want to get out of here and I shouldn’t be driving. I’m out at Lakeview.”
Amanda replaced the phone and pulled out of the parking lot. Jesse’s voice had sounded normal, except for a certain edge of impatience, which Amanda had heard before when she’d been drinking. But that meant little, she knew from past experience. Jesse could be falling-down drunk and still sound normal.
She knew where the Lakeview was, and she also knew that it was only marginally better than the bars down in the Bottom. It was an old roadhouse that catered to heavy drinkers. There’d been several shootings there in the recent past.
She thought about calling Michael again, but decided against it. Somehow, involving him in this seemed wrong, even though he knew about Jesse’s drinking. She didn’t want to become dependent on Michael for anything. It was too risky.
A half hour later, she pulled into the crowded parking lot at the Lakeview. Even with her windows closed, she could hear the blare of music, and before she could get out of her car, two men came staggering out. Fortunately, they staggered off in the opposite direction.
She was halfway across the lot, praying that Jesse wouldn’t create a scene since she’d actually called for help, when she suddenly spotted a familiar car: Michael’s Porsche. What was he doing here? Had Jesse called him when she couldn’t reach her?
Amanda hated herself for feeling relieved. She didn’t want to rely on Michael, but she was very glad he was here. Was there anything about her relationship with him that wasn’t conflicted? she wondered as she pushed open the door.
Chapter Five
Heads turned as Amanda stepped into the packed bar, and only then did it occur to her that she should have gone home to change first. She was still dressed in her work clothes: a conservative gray suit. Her picture had been in the newspaper recently, accompanying the announcement of her candidacy.
Trying to ignore the blaring music and the stares, she scanned the crowd, but didn’t see either Jesse or Michael. There were booths toward the back, and she couldn’t see into them. As she stood there hesitantly, she felt a rush of hatred toward her sister for dragging her into this.
Then, just as she was about to plunge into the noisy, drunken crowd, she saw them emerge from a hallway that probably led to the rest rooms. Michael had his arm around Jesse’s waist, attempting to steer her past the edge of the dance floor. Jesse wore her I’m-totally-wasted-but-trying-to-act-sober face. Michael’s face was unreadable. She hated her sister even more for having brought Michael into this.
It seemed to take forever for them to reach her, and when they did, Jesse gave her a surprised look, then asked what she was doing here.
“You left a message on my machine,” Amanda told her, though she doubted that Jesse remembered that. “We had a dinner date,” she added for good measure.
“Oh.” Jesse tried to look apologetic, but it didn’t quite work. Then she snuggled against Michael. “Well, I don’t need your help now. Michael’s here.”
THE EXPRESSION on Amanda’s face made Michael wish that he were anywhere but here. She even refused to meet his eyes as they left the bar. Would she have preferred that he stay out of it—leave Jesse to an uncertain fate?
As soon as they were outside, Jesse pulled away from him and started to stagger toward his car. Amanda caught up with her and took her arm none too gently. He wondered who she was madder at: her drunken sister or him?
“Let me go!” Jesse cried, trying to extricate herself from Amanda’s grip and nearly falling down in the process. “I want to go with Michael! I don’t want to talk to you!”
“I’ll take her home,” Michael said as he began to steer Jesse toward his car.
Amanda followed them silently, and as soon as she had gotten Jesse into the car, he turned to her. “She called me and I figured I’d better come get her before she got herself into trouble. Why don’t you follow us? I’m going to need your help when we get her home.”
She still wouldn’t meet his eyes, but she nodded and stalked off across the lot. He waited until he saw that she was safely in her car, then slid into the Porsche. She followed him out of the lot.
“She doesn’t understand,” Jesse whined as they drove back toward town.
“What doesn’t she understand?” Michael asked, mostly to humor her. Conversations with drunks weren’t high on his list of favorite pastimes.
“I won’t tell her,” Jesse said insistently. “I’ve never told anyone!”
Michael glanced over at her briefly. Tears were running down her cheeks, ruining her makeup. For some reason, he thought about that photo he’d seen at their cottage on the island. Jesse was still beautiful, he supposed, but he wondered if she knew that her ugly-duckling little sister had long since surpassed her. In his opinion, anyway, but then, he wasn’t exactly objective where Amanda was concerned.
He glanced into the rearview mirror, wondering if he was going to pay the price for this, instead of Jesse. Probably. She knew damn well that he’d had no choice but to come get Jesse, but that wouldn’t make any difference.
“I didn’t believe it, you know,” Jesse said, still sobbing. “I still can’t believe he did it.”
“Did what?” Michael asked, curious now, even though he didn’t expect a rational answer.
“Nothing!” Jesse said suddenly, with a surprising vehemence. “Don’t start grilling me, Michael!”
“Why would I be grilling you, Jess?”
“You’re a cop, that’s why. But I’m not going to help you.”
She folded her arms across her chest like a petulant child and didn’t say another word the rest of the way. Michael wondered what she wa
s talking about, but after a few minutes decided that whatever it was, it probably made perfect sense to her—and no sense at all to anyone else.
By the time he pulled into her driveway, Jesse was asleep and snoring loudly. Amanda pulled in behind him and came up to him as he was trying to get the semiconscious Jesse out of the car. Together, they half carried and half dragged her to the front door, where Amanda dug through Jesse’s purse and found her keys.
Jesse came to briefly when Amanda turned on a light. She blinked at her surroundings, then called out for Steve. Amanda told her that he was out of town, and she stared balefully at her sister.
“I won’t tell you! I know that’s what you want!”
Michael saw Amanda frown at her, then glance quickly at him—almost, he thought, as though she feared what her sister might be about to say.
“Come on, Jesse. Let’s get you to bed,” Amanda said briskly, taking Jesse’s arm and starting toward the stairs.
In the end, he had to carry Jesse up the stairs. She was snoring again by the time he dropped her on the bed, and he left it to Amanda to get her undressed and covered.
As he waited downstairs, Michael kept thinking about that quick, nervous glance Amanda had given him. What was she worried about? Michael doubted there was anything Jesse could have said that he didn’t already know. Steve had been more or less crying on his shoulder for the past couple of weeks. Hell, he probably knew more about their problems than Amanda herself did.
AMANDA CLOSED the bedroom door, then leaned against it for a moment to compose herself. It was too much to hope for that Michael might have gone. He would be waiting for her downstairs.
She went into the bathroom to gain a few moments’ time. Given Jesse’s condition, it was impossible to be sure what she’d meant by that remark about not telling her. But it was also impossible for Amanda not to fear that Jesse did indeed know something about the murder on the island. And if so, she might very well have guessed that Amanda had intended to ask her about it.
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