“We got a lot of calls from people. Some from police and you, but I haven’t been thinking too clearly.”
“Have you shown police through the house?”
“No.”
“So we really can’t confirm who they were.” “What’s the concern?” Tarver asked.
“Just curious.”
“Could’ve been reporters, or Ray’s friends, sources, you know,” Tarver said.
“Could’ve been.” Could have be someone else who’s investigating, too, Graham thought. He made a note, then asked Melody to call him if she remembered anything more.
After she left, Tarver took Graham to the garage. He took stock of the family car, a Toyota Corolla, the work bench, tools, extension ladder hooked on one wall above the mower, the kids’ bikes and toys. In one corner, cardboard boxes were stacked and labelled, Clothes For Charity printed in clear letters with a fine-point marker. Done by Anita, Graham thought as Tarver led him through the breezeway and into the house.
“I haven’t touched a thing,” Tarver said. “Look through anything you like, search what you need. I’m going to brew some coffee.”
The living room had hardwood floors and an L-shaped sofa with fat cushions, facing a large TV next to a wood-burning redbrick fireplace. It was framed by bookshelves with DVDs like Titanic, Sophie’s Choice, The Searchers, The Paper, CDs by Springsteen, the Beatles and Van Morrison, hardcover books by F. Scott Fitzgerald, Steinbeck and Faulkner, a small gallery of framed photos, mostly of Tommy and Emily, and a family trip. Orlando, judging by the Mickey Mouse hats.
The room flowed into the dining room with a ranchstyle table and six chairs, and a glass-fronted hutch. A chandelier hung in the center of the room.
The dining room led to the hall and the bed room area.
The first bedroom had soft-colored wallpaper with tiny unicorns and rainbows and a small bed with a frilly bedspread. Above it, a multicolored crayon drawing of a castle that said Princess Emily’s House, was taped to one wall. Stuffed toys crowded the top of the dresser and shelves. Graham traced his fingers over the flowers printed on the pillowcase, detecting a child’s sweet scent.
She took her last breaths in his arms.
A small, clean bathroom connected the room to the next bedroom.
In that room, a model of a space shuttle was hanging by a thread from the ceiling. A large map of the solar system covered one wall, while the others were papered with the U.S. flag, posters of the Wizards and Batman. All faced a loft bed with a desk and a collection of picture books. Hanging on his closet door was a T-shirt emblazoned with Tommy the Conqueror.
Princess Emily and Tommy the Conqueror next to their mother in the Medical Examiner’s Office.
Next, Graham came to the Tarvers’ master bedroom at the end of the hall.
It had a large window that overlooked the backyard, a walk-in closet and an en suite bathroom. Nicely deco rated. Graham noticed a pleasant soapy hint of perfume and cologne. The bedroom walls were cream, a framed Rembrandt print hung over the queen-size bed, which had a quilted spread and throw pillows. A hard copy of a romance- Knights With Lonely Maidens- was on one nightstand, on the other, an alarm clock and a textbook: Revealed: One Hundred Terrorist Plots.
Sadness rolled over Graham as he flipped through it. The world had ended for this family. Graham was standing in a crypt, trying to make sense of what had happened.
Maybe their deaths were accidental?
Then what the hell am I doing here?
40
Takoma, D.C.
“Be careful.”
Graham looked at the steaming mug of coffee Jackson Tarver held out for him.
“It’s hot.”
They stood in Ray and Anita’s bedroom letting a moment of respectful silence pass.
“What exactly are you looking for?”
“To tell you the truth, I’m not sure. I hope I’ll rec ognize it when I see it.”
“You know, I’m up most nights convincing myself that Ray’s alive, hurt and waiting down along the river. That he’ll come back and we’ll help him through this.”
“You said that he’d quit the wire service, but from the people I’ve talked to I get the sense that that’s not quite what happened.”
“Ray would never talk about it. But I always feared that he’d been forced to leave. Or was fired and it put him in a desperate situation. We only wanted to help him out, so I gave him money from time to time, like when he said he needed to take Anita and the kids on a vacation to the mountains.”
“Do you think Ray was in danger because of his work?”
“Corporal, is there something you’re not telling me?”
“I just need to be satisfied that it was an accident. We still haven’t found his laptop. Did he ever talk about the last story he was working on?”
“The only thing he told me was that it was big and that he was certain he’d get a book deal out of it.”
“Anything to do with terrorists? He seemed to be re searching the subject.”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Do you think he may have exaggerated his story?”
The suggestion landed on a nerve.
“Not every lead he chased resulted in a story. That’s the nature of the news business.”
“Did he have enemies?”
“I wouldn’t know. Are you trying to tell me that someone killed my son and his family because of a goddamn story?”
You have to protect key facts of the case, Graham warned himself.
“No. That’s not what I’m saying. The fact is, I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m just trying to rule out anything criminal, so we can be sure. Ray’s missing laptop concerns me. It could’ve been a robbery gone wrong, or someone took it after Ray and everyone left their campsite. That sort of thing.”
Tarver stared at Graham.
“All I can tell you is that my son was a good reporter. He questioned everything. He dug deep. I know he was a loner, even ostracized. Anita told me. But Ray wasn’t like most reporters in Washington who swallow what ever they’re told.”
“I understand.”
“Now, Ray’s office is in the basement. This way.” The basement smelled of laundry detergent and was divided into a series of small, low-ceilinged rooms finished with paneling that had survived the ’70s. The area contained a small bedroom, a two-piece bathroom with an outdated linoleum floor, a combination laundry and furnace room, then an office.
Graham estimated the office was eight feet square. It was crammed with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, two three-drawer file cabinets and a large desk with a computer and monitor.
“Nothing in this room’s been touched since the day they left for Canada. The file cabinet’s unlocked. Do what you need to do on his computer. Take all the time you need. I’ll be upstairs.”
Newspapers rose in a tower in one corner against the bookshelves. At one end, laminated press tags hung in clusters from chains. A number of framed news awards for breaking news and investigative reporting were piled on one shelf.
Tacked to one frame was a paper target, a silhouette of a man’s upper torso in a scoring ring punctured with holes. A handful of empty shell casings stood next to it.
Yellowing front pages of big city newspapers for San Francisco, Dallas, Miami, Boston, Minneapolis, Philadelphia and Denver, with Ray Tarver’s bylines hung on one wall. Snapshots of Ray with other reporters in
