The Lost (Echoes from the Past Book 9)

by Irina Shapiro

  “Please have a seat,” DI Marshall invited. “Tea?”

  “Yes, please,” Quinn said. Her mouth was so dry she could barely get the words out.

  “Any chance of a decent cup of coffee?” Drew asked.

  “A very good chance. We have a new machine,” DI Marshall replied. He made a call and asked for two coffees and a tea. A young constable arrived a few minutes later and set the cups on the table, leaving without a word.

  “Right,” DI Marshall said once everyone had their cup before them. “So, what’s this about? You were awfully tightlipped on the phone, Drew,” he said, watching Drew as if he were the suspect.

  “This is regarding the hit-and-run accident that killed Jo Turing, who was Mrs. Russell’s sister.”

  “Yes?”

  “Dan, Mrs. Russell hired me to gather evidence to support her belief that her sister was murdered.”

  DI Marshall’s brows rose in surprise, but he said nothing.

  “I have been able to recreate the timeline of events and gather enough evidence to support the allegation.”

  “Go on,” DI Marshall said. He was leaning forward now, clearly intrigued.

  Drew opened the manila folder he’d brought along and consulted the contents. “Let me begin by saying that Brett Besson, the brother of Quinn Russell and Jo Turing, had served a year at a Louisiana penitentiary for attempted murder. The conviction was overturned during an appeal trial because the confession had been illegally obtained. Brett Besson arrived in London two days after his release.”

  “Whom did he try to kill?”

  “Me,” Quinn croaked. “He tried to kill me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I had unwittingly threatened to expose something he didn’t wish to be known.”

  “I see,” DI Marshall said. “And you think he meant to kill Ms. Turing for the same reason?”

  “No. His reasons for wanting Ms. Turing dead are unclear, although we believe he thought he was making amends to Quinn by ridding her of a sister who’d threatened her marriage,” Drew interjected.

  “This gets better and better,” DI Marshall muttered. “All right. Proceed.”

  “Brett Besson arrived in the UK on June twenty-sixth, 2015, and made contact with Quinn Russell shortly thereafter,” Drew began. “He’d expressed a desire to apologize for what he’d done and make amends. Quinn was not receptive to meeting with him, so he ambushed her. During his time in London, he also connected with his other sister, Jo Turing, whom he was meeting for the first time.” Drew pushed a sheet of paper toward Marshall. “I highlighted the calls and texts between them.”

  DI Marshall lifted the paper and looked at it carefully. “This is a register of Jo Turing’s phone calls. Where did you get this, Drew?”

  “That’s not important.”

  “You know this is inadmissible,” DI Marshall said.

  “Of course I do. But it will be if you request your own copy,” Drew pointed out.

  DI Marshall nodded. “Please continue.”

  “Brett Besson and Jo Turing met two days before her death. You can see that from their texts.”

  “Allegedly met,” DI Marshall corrected Drew.

  “Okay, allegedly met. You can subpoena the security footage from the bar where they met or check Jo Turing’s credit card activity for that day. I’m sure you’ll find proof. Then, Brett Besson made a call to Jo Turing on the night of her death. The call lasted less than a minute. A few seconds later, she texted him her address. It stands to reason that they’d arranged to meet again, and this time, he was coming to her place.”

  “Not an unknown occurrence for siblings,” DI Marshall muttered.

  Drew glared at the man but didn’t rise to the bait. “Brett Besson shared a room at the Intercontinental House Hostel with a Swedish student named Swen Persson. Swen had rented a car for the duration of his stay, a silver Nissan Sentra. This is the registration number,” Drew said, pointing to a number on the printout from the rental company. “I’ve checked with the car rental agency, and the vehicle is still in circulation.”

  DI Marshall shrugged. “All right. What makes you think this was the car that struck Jo Turing?”

  “Swen said that on the morning after Jo’s death, the car was parked in the wrong place and was suspiciously clean.” DI Marshall’s eyebrows rose comically, but he didn’t interrupt. “We believe that Brett Besson borrowed his roommate’s car without permission and drove it to the address Jo Turing had texted him.”

  “That doesn’t mean he killed her.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Drew agreed. “Jo Turing was struck by a car at approximately 10:35 p.m. At 11:05, Brett Besson had the car cleaned at this twenty-four-hour carwash, which is only a ten-minute drive from Jo’s residence and on the way back to the hostel.”

  “So, what was he doing for the other twenty minutes?” DI Marshall asked.

  “Probably driving around to make sure no one was following him, and he was in the clear.”

  “All right. Do you have anything else in that folder?” DI Marshall asked, a smile of amusement tugging at his lips.

  His expression seemed to annoy Drew, but he didn’t remark on it and continued laying out his evidence, piece by damning piece. He pushed another sheet of paper toward Marshall. “This was taken by a CCTV camera located just up the street from the carwash at 11:15, just after the driver left the carwash.”

  “This man is wearing a cap that obscures most of his face,” DI Marshall said. “For all you know, this is Swen what’s-his-name returning to the hostel after a night out.”

  “It could be, yes, but the driver is wearing a ring that belongs to Brett Besson and which anyone who knows him would have seen him wear.”

  “So, how can you be sure Swen didn’t borrow Besson’s ring instead of Besson borrowing Swen’s car?” DI Marshall asked.

  Now he’s just being an ass, Quinn thought angrily, and hid her face in her cup of lukewarm tea to hide her expression.

  “Swen Persson had no reason to kill Jo Turing. They had never met. They’d had no communication,” Drew said.

  He was beginning to lose his patience, but DI Marshall was calm and cool, his expression difficult to read. He turned to Quinn and studied her for a long moment. “Mrs. Russell, did your brother do or say anything in the days preceding Jo Turing’s death that would lead you to believe he meant her harm?”

  “Brett had come to London to beg my forgiveness. He wished to make amends for what he’d done to me. He kept insisting he’d make it up to me.”

  “I see, and what did Ms. Turing do that would inspire him to bump her off?”

  “Jo had begun sending nude photos of herself to my husband and inviting him to have sex with her.” Quinn nearly choked on the words. Her face burned with humiliation, and she wished she had taken Drew’s warning more seriously. If this case ever came to trial, every sordid detail of their lives would be revealed, examined, and possibly written about in the press.

  “And was your husband receptive to her advances?” DI Marshall inquired.

  “No, he was not.”

  DI Marshall looked dubious but continued. “Was Brett Besson aware of what your sister was doing?”

  “He was.”

  “So, he thought he was doing you a favor?” he asked, sounding as if he were asking Quinn if she really believed there was intelligent life on Mars.

  “He never actually said so,” Quinn replied.

  “Mrs. Russell, what was it you were going to reveal that had led to an attempt on your life?” DI Marshall pinned her with his steely gaze, and Quinn met it head on, annoyed by the man’s insolent tone. She might not be on trial, but she felt as if she were.

  “While investigating our family history, I had learned that Brett, Jo, and I are descended from a slave woman who’d been brought to America from Trinidad on a slave ship. Brett was raised in New Orleans, Louisiana,” Quinn said. “Deep American South. He didn’t want it to come to light that one of our ancestor
s had been a slave. He couldn’t accept that he had Negro blood.”

  “Is he that much of a racist?” DI Marshall asked.

  “Brett has white supremacist leanings,” Quinn replied. “He expressed his views to me just before he locked me in a tomb in a deserted part of a cemetery and left me to die. I was pregnant at the time,” she added.

  “I see. And how did you come by the registration number for the vehicle that killed Jo Turing?” DI Marshall asked, turning to Drew.

  Quinn sucked in her breath. She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t bring Daisy into this, and given DI Marshall’s sardonic glare, she couldn’t begin to imagine what his reaction would be if she admitted that the registration number had been seen in a psychic vision.

  Drew collected his papers and stuffed them back in the folder. He appeared to be buying time to come up with a reasonable explanation. He then looked up at Dan Marshall and smiled slyly. “I worked backwards, Dan. It had been mentioned in the press at the time of Jo Turing’s death that she had been struck by a silver Nissan. That much was clear on the CCTV footage, but the registration number was impossible to make out. The image was too dark. I mapped out every possible route back to the hostel and hit every carwash along the way. There are thirty-seven,” he added conversationally. “At carwash twenty-six, I found what I was looking for. A silver Nissan had been brought in right around the time of the accident. I then scoured CCTV footage from the two nearest cameras and was able to find the car and obtain a photo of the driver. The rest you can figure out for yourself.”

  “That was quite a long shot,” DI Marshall observed.

  “Perhaps, but since I knew I was looking to implicate Brett Besson, I was able to narrow down the area and also confirm that the Sentra had been rented by Swen Persson for the duration of his stay.”

  DI Marshall grinned broadly, the smile lighting up his serious face. “I’m impressed, Drew. That’s solid detective work.”

  “Thanks, Dan. That’s what I’m paid for,” Drew replied acerbically. It was obvious the two men hadn’t quite buried the hatchet, but they had a grudging respect for one another.

  “Leave this with me,” DI Marshall said as he held out his hand for the folder.

  “You have enough here to reopen the case, Dan,” Drew said as he handed over the folder.

  “You know I can’t make that decision, Drew. I will present your findings to the powers-that-be and recommend that they reopen the investigation.”

  “Thank you,” Quinn said, grateful beyond words that Daisy’s name hadn’t come into the conversation.

  “Mrs. Russell, I’m sorry for what happened to you,” DI Marshall said, surprising her with a look of sympathy. “I meet many dysfunctional families in my line of work, but this…” He made a gesture that indicated utter disbelief. “I will be in touch.”

  “With Drew?” Quinn asked.

  “No, with you. Drew’s involvement in this is over. If we hope to get a conviction, our investigation must adhere to the letter of the law, and Drew’s less-than-legitimate ways of obtaining evidence may come into question.”

  Drew nodded but didn’t argue.

  “I have one more question, Mrs. Russell,” DI Marshall said as he stood to leave. “Why have you waited so long to bring this to our attention?”

  “I tried to tell myself that Brett had turned over a new leaf and couldn’t possibly have done such a horrible thing, but the feeling just wouldn’t go away. I think I’ve always known deep down that Brett’s attempt on my life wasn’t a one-off.”

  “But this time his MO was vastly different,” DI Marshall pointed out.

  “Brett is not a serial killer, Dan. He’s just someone who takes care of a problem as it arises and uses whatever means he has to hand,” Drew replied.

  “Do you believe there were other victims, Mrs. Russell?” DI Marshall asked as they headed toward the door.

  “I don’t know,” Quinn said. “I sincerely hope not.”

  Once back in the corridor, DI Marshall held out his hand, and she took it, shaking it as firmly as she could manage given that she was trembling from head to foot.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again. “Drew, you know the way out.”

  Chapter 46

  “Why didn’t you ring me?” Gabe demanded once Quinn had told him of her visit to the police station. “I would have met you there.”

  “It’s all right. Drew was there.”

  “Quinn, we’re in this together,” Gabe said. She could see he was worried, and she was doubly glad she’d spared him the experience. He’d suffered enough, thanks to her family. “Did you have to mention Daisy?”

  “Thankfully, no. Drew came up with a plausible explanation, since he knew I was reluctant to reveal my source.”

  “Good old Drew,” Gabe said. “He’s the type of man you’d want at your back in a fight.”

  “Yes, he is. He’s clever too. DI Marshall was impressed.”

  “I bet he was. Quinn, you can’t tell anyone about this,” Gabe stressed.

  “I’m not going to tell Seth, if that’s what you’re concerned about,” Quinn said defensively.

  Gabe looked momentarily surprised. “I didn’t think you would. Even you are not that tender-hearted.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” Quinn rounded on him. She wasn’t really angry, but the interview had left her feeling edgy and fragile.

  “It means that you hate what this will do to your dad and wish you could do something to make it easier for him, but forewarning him will only make things worse. Surely you know that,” Gabe said, watching her for a reaction.

  Quinn nodded. “I do. But you’re right. I can’t stand what this will do to him, and to Kathy. Another court case will finish them off emotionally.”

  “Do you think they’ll stand by Brett this time?” Gabe asked.

  “He’s their son. Would you not stand by our children?” Quinn asked, already knowing what Gabe would say.

  “Yes, I would. I won’t always approve of their life choices, nor will I readily forgive their more spectacular mistakes, but I will always love them.”

  “And what if one of our children tried to kill one of the others?”

  Gabe shook his head. “Quinn, how can I answer that? I hope with every fiber of my being that we’ll raise good, decent people, but we both know that sometimes the most diabolical individuals come from loving homes and there was no life-shattering event that made them into who they are.”

  “You believe people are born evil?” Quinn asked, surprised by the suggestion. She’d always believed nurture could overcome nature and thought Gabe shared that belief.

  “Some are.”

  “What about Jude? Your opinion of him was extremely low at one point.”

  “Jude is not evil,” Gabe said. “Misguided, weak, yes, but not evil. He has an addictive personality, but he’s doing his best to keep his addiction in check. I actually have the utmost respect for him. He’s really turned his life around.”

  “Do you believe he’s no longer susceptible?”

  “No, I don’t. I believe he can very easily spiral out of control if the right, or I should say the wrong, set of circumstances derail his resolve. Jude will be walking the razor edge of addiction for the rest of his life.”

  “Isn’t it amazing that we are born preprogrammed with our appearance, level of intelligence, and certain behavioral traits and spend the rest of our lives trying to alter all three?”

  “You don’t need to change a thing,” Gabe said, finally smiling. “You are perfect just the way you are.”

  “And you are the smartest man I’ve ever met,” Quinn said, walking into his arms.

  “Because of my academic achievements?” Gabe asked, grinning.

  “No, because you know when to lie through your teeth.”

  Quinn rested her head against Gabe’s shoulder. She wished she could stay in his embrace forever, safe from whatever life had in store for her. Her moment of peace was interru
pted by the vibrating of her mobile on the worktop.

  She reluctantly glanced at the screen. “I have to take this.” Quinn picked up the phone with a shaking hand.

  “Mrs. Russell? DI Marshall here. Just wanted to let you know that we are officially reopening the inquiry into your sister’s death. I think it goes without saying that you shouldn’t discuss this with anyone who might alert Brett Besson to our suspicions.”

  “Will you keep me abreast of the investigation?” Quinn asked.

  “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss an ongoing case, but I will inform you if there are any important developments, such as an arrest.”

  “I see. Thank you.”

  “Goodnight,” DI Marshall said.

  “Goodnight,” Quinn muttered. “They’ve reopened the case,” she told Gabe. She tried to sound pleased, but her heart was hammering against her ribs, and there was a twisting pain in her stomach. “We’ve done it.”

  Gabe nodded. “We’re not there yet.”

  Chapter 47

  June 1777

  New York City

  As spring turned to summer and New York City smoldered in the heat and humidity of an unexpectedly warm June, the staff at Major Radcliffe’s house underwent a change that instantly altered the dynamic of the household and jolted Jocelyn out of her torpor. She’d become complacent and overconfident, believing herself to be above suspicion, but the transfer of Captain Palmer to General Howe’s staff changed all that. Major Radcliffe was assigned a new aide-de-camp, who arrived, ready to assume his duties, the day after Captain Palmer had moved out.

  “This is Captain Palmer’s replacement, Captain Denning,” Major Radcliffe said when Jocelyn brought a tea tray into his study on that first afternoon. “Captain, allow me to introduce Mistress Sinclair.”

  The man sprang to his feet, bowing to her as if she were the lady of the house. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mistress Sinclair,” he said politely.

  Whereas Captain Palmer had practically blended into the woodwork, Captain Denning filled the study with his presence, making the spacious room feel somehow much smaller. He was tall and lean, his inky-black hair pulled into a ponytail and secured with a ribbon, and his dark blue gaze evaluating her as if she were one of the famous paintings Major Radcliffe had spoken to her about. She saw a glimmer of surprise in his eyes, followed by obvious masculine interest.