narrow face with intelligent, blue eyes. He wore an expensive-looking gray suit and a red silk tie.
“I admit I expected just a phone call, Sheriff O’Connor.”
“It’s important, so I came in person. Is it Dr. Hadlestadt?”
“Yes, but not M.D. I’m the clinic administrator. Won’t you sit down?”
Cork sank into the soft leather of a chair. The office was beautifully appointed, and through a long side window there was a stunning view of the San Gabriels.
“Before we go any further, may I see some identification?”
Cork pulled out his wallet and handed over a card.
“This is a driver’s license,” Hadlestadt said.
“That’s right.”
“May I see your law enforcement ID?”
“I don’t have one at the moment. I’m the former sheriff of Tamarack County. I held that office for eight years. Currently, I’m working as a consultant on law enforcement issues.”
Hadlestadt handed back the driver’s license. “Then you’re not actually a cop.”
“Would you look at this, Mr. Hadlestadt?” Cork thrust at him a copy of the Duluth News Tribune, the April issue in which the headline read “Aurora Girl’s Death Ruled Murder.” The story ran with a photo of the young woman.
“Is that Charlotte Kane?” Cork asked.
Hadlestadt’s eyes took in the headline, then scanned the story and the photo. “It certainly looks like her, but I don’t see how that could be.”
“Why?”
“For one thing, she died four years ago. Or at least that’s what I thought. And for another, it says here she’s only seventeen. Charlotte Kane would be twenty now.”
“What happened to Charlotte four years ago?”
Hadlestadt put the newspaper on his desk. “You say you’re a consultant. In what capacity on this case?”
“I’m working for the attorney whose client has been charged with the girl’s murder.”
For a moment, it appeared as if Hadlestadt was considering the advisability of answering. Then he seemed to give a mental shrug. “Charlotte disappeared. They found her car a couple of days later. Lots of blood, but no body. As I understand, it was a pretty awful scene. The police carried out a thorough investigation, but I believe they never did find out exactly what happened to her. It was a terrible thing. She was such a terrific kid.”
“Did they ever find the body?”
“No. At least not as far as I know.”
“Was Fletcher Kane ever a suspect?”
Hadlestadt tensed. “No. And I can tell you right now I’m not going to say anything that would reflect badly on Dr. Kane.”
“Please understand that I’m only after the truth. A young man has been accused of murdering Fletcher Kane’s daughter, who appears to have been already dead. Mr. Hadlestadt, all I’m asking is that you help me understand how that’s possible.”
Hadlestadt rocked back in his chair. For a few moments, he looked away from Cork and studied the mountains framed by the office window.
“What do you want to know?” he said.
“When you knew him, what kind of person was Dr. Kane?”
“Terribly demanding of himself and his colleagues. A perfectionist. Sometimes difficult because his standards were always so high. But absolutely wonderful with patients. Compassionate, understanding.”
This last part caught Cork by surprise, though he tried not to show it.
“He hired me. I worked with him for several years. I have nothing but admiration for him as a physician and as director of this clinic.” Hadlestadt leaned forward, put his arms on his desk, and laced his fingers. “When Dr. Kane took the responsibility of heading Worthington, it was a place that catered exclusively to a wealthy clientele, people who wanted to buy back their youth or who wanted things done to their bodies they thought God had overlooked. Kane changed that. He hired talented physicians and gave them resources. Over time we’ve become known more for the reconstructive work we do here on victims of physical trauma. Automobile accidents, burns, that kind of thing. Don’t get me wrong. We’re still Hollywood’s favorite choice for a nose job, but that’s not at the heart of Worthington anymore, thanks to Fletcher Kane.”
“Why did he leave?”
Hadlestadt shrugged. “What happened to Charlotte. It devastated him. He never got over it. He seemed to lose a part of himself, the best part, honestly. He resigned as director, withdrew from the rest of us, from the social life here. He asked for a new staff, which was a bit odd, but we accommodated him. He became secretive about his work. Considering everything he’d been through, I suppose most of this was understandable. It didn’t surprise me at all when he finally left.”
“What can you tell me about Charlotte Kane?”
“Aside from the fact that everybody loved her, not much. Maybe you should talk to someone who was closer to her. Try her mother. I’m sure she’ll be interested in this.” He tapped the paper.
“Her mother?” Cork said. “I thought Kane’s wife was dead.”
“The marriage may have died, but Constance Kane is alive, I assure you.”
She lived in a big house in Ganesha Hills, above the Los Angeles County fairgrounds. The place was hacienda-style, two stories of beige stucco with a red tile roof. The property lines were marked with tall cedars, in almost exactly the same way as the boundaries of the Parrant estate back in Aurora. There was a fountain in front, a porcelain maiden pouring water from an urn into a small pool. The maiden had a young, pretty face and blank eyes. Cork rang the bell. Constance Kane appeared immediately.
He could see Charlotte in the woman at the door. The same raven hair, the same facial structure-small nose, high cheekbones, strong chin. Attractive. The eyes were different, blue and softer, with tiny crow’s feet. She wore a yellow summer dress and sandals.
“Mr. O’Connor?”
“How do you do, Ms. Kane?”
Her hand was small but firm, her nails well manicured and polished with an opal sheen.
“Won’t you come in?”
Lilies filled a vase on a table in the foyer, and Cork walked into their marvelous fragrance.
“Would you care for some coffee, or perhaps some tea?” she offered.
“Thank you, no.”
In the living room, she indicated a stuffed chair and Cork sat down. She took a place on the sofa, crossed her legs at the ankles, and folded her hands on her lap.
“When you called from the clinic, you said you had some information about Fletcher that you thought I ought to have. Is he all right?”
“In a way, that’s what I’m trying to find out. I’m from Aurora, Minnesota, your ex-husband’s hometown.”
“You’re mistaken, Mr. O’Connor. Fletcher is from Kansas.”
“I knew him until he was thirteen years old and his mother moved him away. They left as a result of rather unpleasant circumstances. It doesn’t surprise me that your husband might have chosen never to speak of that time in his life.”
“I’m sure we’re talking about two different Fletcher Kanes.”
Cork had brought with him a photo he’d cut from the Aurora Sentinel that had run with an article about the family shortly after Kane came to town. The article had been vague, but the photograph was clear. He handed it to her. “Is that your husband?”
She looked at the photo and said warily, “Yes.”
“He returned to Aurora two years ago. He brought a daughter with him. Her name was Charlotte.”
“Charlotte?” Her eyes hardened and the crow’s feet deepened. “Is this some kind of sick joke? You said you were with the sheriff’s department?”
“I was sheriff of Tamarack County, that’s where Aurora is, for eight years.”
