“He looks familiar,” Duncan said, gesturing toward Cram. “Or maybe I’m flashing back to the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disney World. Shouldn’t he have an eye patch?”
Grace shifted in her seat. “You were telling me about why you lied?”
Duncan ran his hand through the sandy hair. “When Scanlon said the fire was no accident… You can’t understand what it did to me. I mean, one moment my life was one thing. The next…” He snapped his finger with a magician’s flourish. “It wasn’t so much that everything was different now-it was more like the past fifteen years had all been different. Like someone had gone back in time and changed one event and it changed everything else. I wasn’t the same guy. I wasn’t a guy whose sister died in a tragic fire. I was a guy whose sister had been murdered and never avenged.”
“But now you have the killer,” Grace said. “He confessed.”
Duncan smiled, but there was no joy there. “Scanlon said it best. He was just a weapon. Like a gun. I wanted the person who pulled the trigger. It became an obsession. I tried to do it part-time, you know, work my job while searching for the killer. But I started to neglect my cases. So my boss, she strongly suggested I take a leave.” He looked up at her.
“Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“I didn’t think it would be a great opening line, you know, telling you I was forced out like that. I still have connections in the office. I still have friends in law enforcement. But just so we’re clear, everything I’m doing is off the books.”
Their eyes locked. Grace said, “You’re still holding something back.”
He hesitated.
“What is it?”
“We should get one thing straight.” Duncan stood, did the run through the sandy hair bit again, turned away from her. “Right now we’re both trying to find your husband. It’s a temporary alliance. The truth is, we have separate agendas. I won’t lie to you. What happens after we find Jack, well, do we both want the truth?”
“I just want my husband.”
He nodded. “That’s what I mean about separate agendas. About our alliance being temporary. You want your husband. I want my sister’s killer.”
He looked at her now. She understood.
“So now what?” Grace asked.
He took out the mystery photograph and held it up. There was a hint of a smile on his face.
“What?”
Scott Duncan said, “I know the name of the redhead in the photograph.” She waited.
“Her name is Sheila Lambert. Attended Vermont University the same time as your husband”-he pointed at Jack and then slid his finger to the right-“and Shane Alworth.”
“Where is she now?”
“That’s just the thing, Grace. No one knows.”
She closed her eyes. A shudder ran through her.
“I sent the photograph up to the school. A retired dean identified her. I ran a full check, but she’s gone. There is no sign of Sheila Lambert’s existence over the past decade-no payroll tax, no social security number hit, nothing.”
“Just like with Shane Alworth.”
“Exactly like Shane.”
Grace tried to put it together. “Five people in the photograph. One, your sister, was murdered. Two others, Shane Alworth and Sheila Lambert, haven’t been heard of in years. The fourth, my husband, ran overseas and is missing now. And the last one, well, we still don’t know who she is.”
Duncan nodded.
“So where do we go from here?”
“You remember I said I talked to Shane Alworth’s mother?”
“The one with the fuzzy Amazonian geography.”
“When I visited her the first time, I didn’t know about this picture or your husband or any of that. I want to show her the picture now. I want to gauge her reaction. And I want you there.”
“Why?”
“I just have a feeling, that’s all. Evelyn Alworth is an old woman. She’s emotional and I think she’s scared. I went in there the first time as an investigator. Maybe, I don’t know, but maybe if you go in as a concerned mother, something will shake loose.”
Grace hesitated. “Where does she live?”
“A condo in Bedminster. Shouldn’t take us more than thirty minutes to get there.”
Cram came back into view. Scott Duncan nodded toward him.
“So what’s with that scary guy?” Duncan asked.
“I can’t go with you now.”
“Why not?”
“I have the kids. I can’t just leave them here.”
“Bring them along. There’s a playground right there. We won’t take long.”
Cram came to the door now. He beckoned with his hand for Grace. She said, “Excuse me” and headed toward Cram. Scott Duncan stayed where he was.
“What is it?” she asked Cram.
“Emma. She’s upstairs crying.”
Grace found her daughter in classic cry position-facedown on her bed, pillow over her head. The sound was muted. It had been a while since Emma had cried like this. Grace sat on the edge of the bed. She knew what was coming. When Emma could speak, she asked where Daddy was. Grace told her that he was on a business trip. Emma said that she didn’t believe her. That it was a lie. Emma demanded to know the truth. Grace repeated that Jack was just on a business trip. That everything was fine. Emma pushed. Where was he? Why hadn’t Daddy called? When was he coming home? Grace made up rationales that sounded pretty believable in her ears-he was really busy, he was traveling in Europe, London right now, didn’t know how long he’d be gone, he had called but Emma had been sleeping, remember that London is in a different time zone.
Did Emma buy it? Who knew?
Child-rearing experts-those namby-pamby, lobotomy-voiced Ph.D.s on cable TV-would probably tsk-tsk, but Grace was not one of those tell-kids-everything parents. Above all else a mother’s job was to protect. Emma was not old enough to handle the truth. Plain and simple. Deception was a necessary part of parenting. Of course Grace could be wrong-she knew that-but the old adage is true: Kids don’t come with instructions. We all mess up. Raising a child is pure impromptu.
A few minutes later she told Max and Emma to get ready. They were going for a ride. Both children grabbed their Game Boys and piled into the back of the car. Scott Duncan moved toward the passenger seat. Cram cut him off.
“Problem?” Duncan said.
“I want to talk to Ms. Lawson before you go. Stay here.”
Duncan snapped a sarcastic salute. Cram gave him a look that could have held back a weather front. He and Grace stepped into the back room. Cram closed the door.
“You know you shouldn’t go with him.”
“Maybe not. But I have to.”
Cram chewed on his lower lip. He didn’t like it, but he understood. “Do you carry a purse?”
“Yes.”
“Let me see it.”
She showed it to him. Cram pulled a gun out of his waist. It was small, almost toylike. “This is a Glock nine-millimeter, model 26.”
Grace held up her hands. “I don’t want that.”
“Keep it in your purse. You can also wear it in an ankle holster but you’ll need long pants.”
“I’ve never fired a gun in my life.”
“Experience is overrated. You aim for the middle of the chest, you squeeze the trigger. It’s not complicated.”
“I don’t like weapons.”
Cram shook his head.
“What?”
“Maybe I’m mistaken, but didn’t somebody threaten your daughter today?”
That made her pause. Cram put the gun in her purse. She did not fight him.
“How long are you going to be gone?” Cram asked.
“Couple of hours, tops.”
“Mr. Vespa will be here at 7 P.M. He says it’s important that he speaks to you.”
“I’ll be here.”
“You sure you trust this Duncan guy?”
“I’m not sure. But I think we’re safe with him.”
Cram nodded. “Let me add a little insurance on that front.”
