Inside she heard the muffled sound of a television set tuned to something that sounded like MTV Moments after the doorbell rang, the TV set was silenced. A few seconds after that, the door opened and there stood Nathan Adams. The sight of him was enough to take Joanna’s breath away. When she had first seen Eddie Mossman, she remembered that he had looked familiar somehow, even though she was certain she had never seen the man before. Now she knew why. Nathan Adams looked just like Eddie Mossman-just like his grandfather.
Or was it also, Joanna wondered for the first time, just like his father? No one had said as much. No one had admitted that, at the time Carol Mossman had fled Mexico with her two younger sisters, Stella might have been pregnant with her own father’s child. And the simple fact that no one had mentioned it made Joanna wonder that much more whether it was true.
“Yeah?” Nathan said. “Whaddya want?”
“Is your mother home?” Joanna managed. “There’s something I need to talk to her about.”
316
“She’s not here.”
“Do you know when she’ll be back?”
Nathan Adams shrugged. “No idea,” he said. “Could be an hour or two, maybe longer.”
“What about your dad?” Joanna asked hopefully.
“He stays at an apartment up in Tucson during the week,” Nathan explained. “He’s usually only home on weekends.”
“Oh,” Joanna said. “I’ll be going then.”
“Want me to have her call you when she gets in?”
“No,” Joanna said. “Don’t bother. I’ll talk with her tomorrow.”
As Joanna walked back across the wide porch, the door slammed behind her. A moment later, the atonal thumping of MTV returned. Joanna retreated to the Ciwie and then sat there for several long minutes without turning the key in the ignition.
Is that the truth? she wondered. Is Nathan the product of an incestuous relationship between Stella and her father:1 And if so, does he have any idea about the truth of the situation?
Joanna remembered Nathan as he had appeared when she had first laid eyes on him that day in the lobby of the Justice Center. He had struck her as a surly, smart-alecky teenager-typical, in other words. She had thought him spoiled, doted on, and more than a little obnoxious, but normal-utterly normal. But could you be a normal teenager if you knew that kind of awful truth about your parentage?
Kids exist in a herd mentality. They want to fit in-want to be just like everyone else. That’s why they wear the same kinds of clothes, watch the same television programs, listen to the same music. But could you fit in if you knew that you existed because your mother had been impregnated by her own father?
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It came to Joanna then in a flash of insight. “He doesn’t know!” she almost shouted, pounding the steering wheel with her fist. “Nathan Adams has no idea!”
Joanna’s hands trembled as she turned the ignition key and put the Crown Victoria in gear. Meanwhile the gears in Joanna’s head were meshing as well. And if Nathan doesn’t know, that’s because Stella’s been keeping it a secret. And if Carol was going public, the secret was about to come out.
There it was laid out before her so clearly that Joanna wondered why she hadn’t seen it before. Andrea was convinced that her father was Carol’s murderer, but this made far more sense. Here was motive-a protective mother’s motive-understandable, utterly implacable, and absolutely deadly.
Joanna headed straight for the department. Without being aware of her speed, she found herself doing seventy down the Warren Cutoff. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to pull her foot off the gas pedal and drive sensibly. She parked the Civvie behind her office and darted inside. As soon as she put her purse down, she hurried over to the door.
Kristin looked up from her desk, surprised to see her,. “What are you doing here?”
she said. “I thought you’d go straight home from Tucson.”
“Something came up. Where’s Frank?”
“Still in the conference room with Ernie and those other guys,” Kristin answered.
“They must be having a great time in there. A few of them have come out for pee stops, but they’re obviously still going strong.” She gave Joanna a close look. “You seem upset,” she said. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” Joanna said, “nothing’s wrong. But let me know as soon as Frank comes out.
Tell him I need to see him. What about Jaime Carbajal? Has anyone heard from him?”
318
“Not as far as I know.”
Joanna returned to her office and tried calling Jaime’s cell phone. It rang several times, and she hung up without leaving a message. Frustrated, she stared at the mounds of untouched paperwork covering almost every square inch of her desk. Finally her eye settled on the last of Irma Mahilich’s General Office drawings-the one marked page 4. The paper sat directly in front of her just where she’d left it. Something drew Joanna’s eyes to the far-right corner of the paper where, although she hadn’t noticed it before, a single name stood out: Adams-Anna Wakefield Adams.
Staring at the words written in Irma Mahilich’s spidery script, a string of names tumbled through Joanna’s mind: Stella Adams. Denny Adams. Anna Wakefield Adams. Joanna had known of Denny Adams. He had been younger than Joanna by several years, so they hadn’t been in school together, but she knew the name. Now she wondered if Anna Adams and Denny were related. She looked up the number in the telephone directory and called the Ferndale Retirement Center.
