Memory of Murder

person who knows it is the man who calls himself Richard Merrill.” His voice was hard, and she could see the muscles in his jaw clench. “I’m going to have to talk to him, Lindsey. You know that, don’t you?”

She turned her head to look out the window and didn’t reply.

Yes. I’m going to have to talk to him.

“But,” Alan continued, “I need to have as much information as I possibly can before I do. The photos alone aren’t enough. Which means I have to wait for everything from the Richmond PD, as well as Bob Faulkner’s files-the Baltimore files on the McKinney case-to get here. He’s sending them overnight, but because of the weekend they won’t get here until at least Monday.” He paused, then said, “Lindsey?” in a warning tone. And paused again. “He cannot know about this-do you understand me? You can’t tell him what we know, or ask him about it yourself. In fact, you’d best stay completely away from him, if you don’t think you can keep secrets from him. Okay?”

She couldn’t seem to make herself utter a sound. She nodded, watching San Clemente slip past and the Pacific come into view beyond her window.

“Lindsey? Promise me you won’t try to talk to him. Stay…away…from him. Got it?”

San Onofre nuclear power plant loomed ahead on the right, a giant pair of female breasts pointing at the sky. She stared at them with burning eyes. “Got it,” she said.

Neither of them spoke again until they were pulling into Lindsey’s driveway. Instead of dropping her off, Alan got out and walked her to her door, looking around him the way cops do, checking out the surroundings. One hand even went automatically to his right hip, she noticed, where his holster would be, if he’d had a weapon with him.

Remembering the last time we were here, she thought. And Dad was here…coming down the driveway. My Dad. And now he’s wishing for his gun?

At her door, he took her face between his hands and looked into her eyes, and she thought for a moment he would kiss her. Instead, he said gravely, “Stay away from him, Lindsey. Please. There’s no telling what he might do if he knows we’re on to him.”

“Dad would never hurt me,” she said thickly.

She pulled away from him and put her key in the lock, opened the door and went inside. He didn’t say anything more, or try to stop her. She closed the door, locked it, then leaned against it and let the tears come.

“I don’t trust her,” Alan said.

At the other end of the cell phone connection, Carl Taketa was silent for a moment. Then: “Do you really think she’d confront Merrill on her own?”

“She didn’t promise she wouldn’t,” Alan said grimly. “And even if she did promise, I still wouldn’t trust her. She’s desperate for answers, and he’s the only one who’s got ’em. And, he’s her daddy. She truly doesn’t believe he’d harm her.”

“Do you think he would?”

Alan let out a gusty breath. “Probably not. But that’s not my only concern. The guy has changed identities before. He has financial resources. If he finds out we’re on to him, we’ll lose him for sure.”

“You really think she’d tip him off?”

“Again-probably not. Not deliberately, anyway. But I have a feeling she’s not a very good liar, not where he’s concerned, and this is weighing heavily on her mind. She could easily say or do something that would make him suspicious. Look-you know I can’t do anything until we get the DNA results showing a sibling relationship between Lindsey and Holt Kincaid. Without that there’s no proof Karen McKinney and Susan Merrill are the same person, and even with DNA we can’t definitively prove the Chesapeake Jane Doe is connected to either one.”

“Come on,” Carl said, “I don’t think you’d have any trouble convincing a jury.”

“Maybe not,” Alan said, “which only makes Merrill guilty of falsifying his identity. There’s nothing to connect him to the shooting of Karen and James McKinney. The only way I’m going to get that is to sweat it out of him, and before I go after him I need more than what I’ve got now. Meanwhile, I don’t want to take a chance on losing him. Partner, I hate like hell to ask you-I know it’s Sunday, but he knows me, he knows my car-”

“Say no more. I’ll sit on him until you can get the captain to assign surveillance.”

“Alicia is going to hate me.”

“Nah, that’s the great thing about her being a cop, too. She’ll understand.”

“Well…thanks, pal. I owe you.”

“What for? Giving me a piece of solving a forty-year-old murder? Shoot, man, I owe you.”

Lindsey was stepping out of the shower when her cell phone rang. She grabbed a towel and picked up the phone with a shaking hand, knowing who it was before she even looked at the caller ID.

“Dad!” she said, as her chest and throat filled up with a lumpy mixture of guilt and grief.

“Lindsey? Where’ve you been, sweetheart? I’ve been trying to reach you for two days.”

“Um…sorry about that.” She tried to laugh, and it sounded like a cry of pain. “I…had my phone turned off most of the weekend. I was-Alan and I went to L.A.”

“In all that rain? What in the world for?”

“We were…uh…we were visiting some friends of Alan’s. Traffic was fine going in, but coming back it got pretty bad, so we stayed over and came on home this morning. I didn’t think about calling. I’m sorry if you were worried, but there wasn’t any reason to be.”

“I know, I know, and you’re an adult and don’t need to check in with your old dad anymore, but…it wouldn’t kill you to give me a call, would it? You’re still my little girl, you know.”

“I know…”

“Lindsey? What’s the matter? Is something wrong?”

“No, no.” Her eyes were shut tight. She struggled with all her strength to hold back tears…make her voice sound bright…normal. She forced a laugh, then sniffed and added, “I just got out of the shower, Dad. I’m dripping here.”

“Oh! Well, for goodness’ sake, don’t catch cold. I won’t keep you, honey. Just glad you’re home safe.”

“Me, too. Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

“I know you are. But I’ll worry anyway. I love you, girlie.” There was a pause, then: “Talked to your mother lately?”

“Not for a few days. I’m going to go see her tomorrow.”

“Okay…well.” There was the sound of an indrawn breath. “Tell her I love her, honey. Will you do that for me?”

“I will, Dad.” She was holding her breath, afraid to breathe, afraid he would hear a sob in it. Her chest felt as though it would burst.

“Well…okay then. Guess I’ll say g’night. Let you get dried off.”

“’Night, Dad.”

“I love you, honey.”

“Love you, too…”

She broke the connection and turned blindly, first one way, then the other, in such agony she wanted nothing so much as to hurl the phone as far and as hard as she could. But of course she didn’t. Instead she pressed the instrument against her forehead, closed her eyes and let the pent-up tears flow freely down her cheeks.

First thing Monday morning Alan knocked on Ron Tupman’s door. The captain sounded surly, as usual, even that early on the first day of a new week, but he listened with his customary laser-like intensity while Alan filled him in on the weekend’s developments in the Susan Merrill case.

“So,” Tupman said when Alan had finished, “you’re telling me Taketa’s been sitting on Merrill’s place all night?”

“Yes, sir, he has,” Alan said. “Didn’t want the man deciding to pull another disappearing act.”

“So, you think his daughter-so-called-might tip him off?”

“I hope she won’t, but…let’s just say I’d rather not take that chance.”

Tupman nodded and picked up his phone. “Well, let’s get somebody out there to relieve Carl.” He drilled Alan with a stare. “How long you figure before you’ll have enough to bring him in?”