“This had better be good,” Rawlings growled from within. When he saw Olivia and Haviland, a mixture of surprise and delight replaced his sullen expression.
“Don’t get up,” Olivia said as Rawlings moved to stand. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I know the local press has gotten wind of your case and you must be very busy.”
“I wish there was something for me to be busy
Without waiting to be asked, Olivia sat in one of the two chairs facing the chief’s tidy desk. “I take it the medical examiner’s report provided no additional clues.”
“Only that our victim wasn’t drugged.” Rawlings picked up a rubber band and wound it around his thumb and index finger. “There was duct tape residue on his neck, implying that a bag was taped over his head long enough to cause him to lose consciousness. Before burying the victim in the sand, the killer tried to remove all signs of the tape but missed a few pieces.”
Olivia tried to push away the picture forming in her mind of a man fighting desperately to breathe, his lips drawing in plastic while his frantic exhalations fogged up the bag, blurring the movements of his attacker. “Run-of- the-mill silver duct tape?”
Rawlings nodded. “Yes. Even if I got a record of every duct tape sale over the last thirty days from Hampton’s Hardware, there are still dozens of places across the county to buy the stuff. Grocery stores, auto parts centers, gas stations.” He ran a hand over his cheek, pausing to rub an area of stubble he’d missed while shaving that morning.
“I wish I could tell you that I was here because I had useful information, but I don’t.” Olivia withdrew the envelope from her purse. “My visit is purely selfish. I’d like your opinion on this if you can spare the time.”
The lines on Rawlings’ forehead deepened as he accepted the letter. He paused, and Olivia knew he was seeing something in her face he’d never seen there before. Sorrow, carefully tucked away for many years, surfaced in her dark blue eyes.
She could feel him nearly reach for her hand, but when she gazed at the lined paper in his grasp, he turned his attention to the words written in bold black ink.
When he was finished, he didn’t speak right away but turned to the window and stared out at the purple crape myrtle trees lining the parking lot.
“The author of this letter is interested in money,” he said eventually. “If you give him the initial payment, he will ask for more.” He laced his fingers together and looked at Olivia. “Do you think there’s a possibility that this claim is true? That your father is alive and possibly unwell?”
Hesitating, Olivia smoothed out the letter’s envelope in her lap. She didn’t answer for a long time. “I do. I think someone recently discovered that he and I are related and decided to profit from that knowledge. For example, my father could be in a hospital where one of his nurses figured out our connection.” She pointed at the letter. “This person wrote me because my father is sick. That strikes me as being the truth.”
Rawlings considered this theory. “Not a nurse. Someone with less education.” he said. “So we’re assuming that your father has been lying low for thirty years?”
“Yes,” Olivia answered through tight lips.
“Without filing for taxes or leaving a paper trail of any kind.” The chief appeared impressed. “Your grandmother hired a private investigator to search for him, didn’t she?”
“Several. They all came up empty-handed. My father’s boat was found adrift with all his gear aboard. I don’t see how he could make a living without that trawler.” Her memory strayed back to the night she’d pushed the little dingy away from the hull of her father’s boat, away from his rage and his raised fist, the hate in his black eyes and the stink of whiskey on his breath. “They found several empty liquor bottles on board. Everyone came to the conclusion he’d drowned. He was an alcoholic. He was depressed. And that night, he was raving. I could see him— have often imagined him—losing his balance and pitching backward into the ocean.”
Rawlings sat very still. “Thereby acquiring peace.”
Olivia nodded, her throat tight with emotion. “I know he felt responsible for my mother’s death. I did too. He couldn’t run away from the guilt, but he tried. He took long fishing trips, leaving me alone at home. I preferred to have him at sea, because when he was around, our little house was too small for his grief, the whiskey, and my mother’s ghost.”
Now Rawlings did come around his desk. He sat down in the chair next to Olivia, his knees touching hers. He put a large, warm hand over her thinner, colder one. “I can see that you want to answer this letter, but as your friend, I have to warn you against doing so. Let’s say that your father is alive and you pay thousands of dollars to discover his whereabouts. You rush to his bedside and then what? What are you hoping for?”
“I don’t know!” Olivia’s reply held anger, but it was not directed at Rawlings. “Maybe I want to have a copy of his medical history so I can see what I’ve got in store! Maybe I want the chance to call him a bastard to his face before he dies. Maybe I want to spit in his face and ask him what kind of man leaves a little girl all alone day after day and then, one day, abandons her forever!”
Horrified to notice that tears wet her cheeks, Olivia pulled her hand out from under the chief’s and turned away.
“You want the truth,” he finished her thought, his tone quiet and soothing. “Even if it opens old wounds or causes fresh ones. You want the truth, no matter what the cost.”
Her eyes met his. Olivia nodded, grateful for both his words and his gentleness. He understood. He understood everything. “Just promise me one thing,” he said. “If this turns out to be a hoax and we’re able to track down the letter writer, then you hand him or her over to me. If there ends up being no truth, then I will give you something else. Justice.”
She could have kissed him then. His entire body was radiating a righteous authority and his eyes gleamed with conviction, the muddy brown alive with glints of gold. And she knew at that moment that he would do a great deal to defend and to protect her and that something had changed between them on this day.
She had laid herself bare to Rawlings and he had treated her naked emotions with care.
Reclaiming the letter from his desk, Olivia was afraid to look at him again for fear he’d see that she was, at that moment in time, completely in awe of him. Instead, she put her palm on his forearm and let it linger there for a brief second, before rising and pulling open his office door. “I’ll see you Saturday, Chief. Thank you for your time.”
As she walked away Olivia sensed that she had stirred something inside Rawlings, something that might have been lying dormant in the depths of his heart for a long time.
She wondered, glancing at the purple crape myrtle blooms beneath his window, what would become of this newfound longing between them.
Chapter 5
Olivia told no one else about the letter. She put it away in a desk drawer at home, beneath a utility bill. Even though it was out of sight, the letter called to her. Whenever she sat down at the desk to work on her manuscript, her concentration was completely ruined by the knowledge of what sat in her bill drawer.
Until she had found the body on the beach, Olivia had been making steady progress on her novel, becoming fully immersed in her fictionalized version of Egypt during the reign of Ramses the Second. But neither her character, a concubine named Kamila, nor the charisma of the famous Nineteenth Dynasty pharaoh could draw Olivia’s attention from the letter.
Finally, on Friday, she took the envelope from the drawer, yanked out the single piece of paper, and read the scant lines though she already knew every word by heart. Her computer screen was covered by images of the clothing and jewelry worn by the nobility of Ancient Egypt, but Olivia closed every website window and began a new search. She knew the pull of her novel wasn’t strong enough to distract her from the letter and that she needed to take action. In this case, Olivia required the services of the sharpest private investigator in Wilmington.
After researching several firms, she made a decision, picked up the phone, and asked to speak to the
