Dying Scream (4 page)

Vega frowned. “Didn’t Craig Thornton have some kind of car accident?”

“Yeah. It was about six weeks after I interviewed him. Blindsided by a drunk driver. Really a freak accident. Impact smashed in his skull. Banged up his wife pretty badly.”

“He didn’t die right off, as I remember.”

“Languished in a coma for over two years. He died last December.”

Vega nodded as if the details were coming back. “The woman driving ran a red light.”

“She blew a .26 when the officer at the scene checked her blood alcohol.”

“Shit. It’s a wonder she could stand, let alone drive a car.”

“She was convicted of drunk driving. It was her third DUI conviction and she’s in jail now. Serving a three-year sentence.”

Vega arched a thick brow. “You know a lot about this family.”

“I don’t like unsolved cases.” He kept his tone steady, his gaze ahead, his body relaxed. However, relaxed wasn’t close to what he was feeling.

Gage had kept up with Adrianna through the papers. Notices about her business. Her accepting the chair of the pediatric clinic fund-raiser. The funeral. The public notice announcing the land sale and grave relocation.

“So why are we headed to the Thornton estate?”

“Adrianna Barrington, Thornton’s widow, has sold the estate, according to the public notice in the paper. As a condition of the sale, she’s moving the family graveyard and clearing the old house.”

“Okay…”

“Two missing women. What better place to hide them than in a private graveyard?”

“You’re stretching this, aren’t you?”

Gage had asked himself that question a lot in the last few weeks since the notice appeared. Maybe he was. “I don’t think so. I wanted to search the land three years ago but Thornton refused. His attorney made sure I stayed out of his business.”

“That doesn’t prove anything.”

“I know.” He shrugged. “Just seems to me when you start moving rocks something is bound to crawl out.” He ran his hands over his shorn black hair. “At the most, it’ll cost us a morning of our time.”

Vega rubbed his hand over his freshly shaved chin. “You know Adrianna Barrington is Detective Warwick’s sister-in-law.”

That bit of information caught Gage short. “Detective Jacob Warwick?”

“One and the same.” Warwick was an ex-boxer and former army sergeant who’d proven himself a shrewd investigator that tolerated little bullshit. He’d shocked everyone this past winter when he and the metro area’s leading reporter had married in a quiet ceremony.

So much he didn’t know about Adrianna. “You’re talking about Kendall Shaw Warwick, the former news reporter with Channel 10.”

“Yeah. They’re sisters. Just found out about each other. Both adopted out as very young children.”

“That’s the first I heard it.”

“You know Warwick. He plays it close to the vest. And I think Kendall asked him to keep quiet. She called in favors within the media so the story never made it to light. Apparently no one ever told Adrianna she was adopted. Kinda threw her for a loop when she found out last winter.”

A kick in the teeth was more than likely. “Why the big secret about the adoption?”

“The Barringtons had another daughter almost exactly Adrianna’s age. She was also named Adrianna. She died and the Barringtons just replaced her.”

“Damn. What happened to the other daughter?”

“The family doctor testified the kid died of crib death.”

“Where was she buried?”

“Never found the baby’s grave. The burial was just as secret as the adoption. In the end there wasn’t evidence for the commonwealth’s attorney to prosecute.”

“A doctor’s twenty-seven-year-old testimony and no body to examine,” Gage said.

“Just enough evidence to close the case but not enough to solve it.”

“Explains the physical resemblance between the women.” When he’d first met Adrianna, he’d joked with her about the likeness. She’d said she heard the comment a lot.

“When did you meet Adrianna Barrington?”

“I spoke to her after the car accident. I hoped Craig had told her something about Minor.” His relationship with Adrianna was ancient history and as far as he was concerned didn’t impact the case, so he kept it to himself.

The Minor case had been the excuse Gage had given the department, but in truth he’d needed to know Adrianna was okay.

When he’d found her, Adrianna had been standing at the glass window of the small neonatal unit at Mercy Hospital staring at the babies. Thick blond hair swept over straight narrow shoulders and accentuated a high slash of cheekbones bruised by the air bag. She’d worn a robe. Her face was scrubbed clean, pale.

Gage cleared his throat. “Adrianna?”

Adrianna didn’t look up at first.

“Adrianna?”

Sharp sapphire eyes met his and then darkened with confusion. “Gage? What are you doing here?”

The nurses had told him she’d been three months pregnant and had miscarried after the accident. Despite their history, his heart ached for her. “I’m here on police business. Your floor nurse said I could find you here.”

“Oh.”

“What are you doing down here?”

“Looking at the babies.” Adrianna glanced back at the infants on the other side of the glass. She was tall for a woman, maybe five foot eleven. Her straight-backed posture telegraphed her pain.

He slid his hand into his pocket so he wouldn’t be tempted to touch her. “I heard about the accident. The baby. I’m sorry.”

For a brief instant, pain glistened behind the ice.

“How are you doing?”

“I’ll survive,” she whispered.

He searched for something comforting to say but feared any words would sound ham-fisted. “What do the doctors say about Craig?” He couldn’t bring himself to say “husband.”

Adrianna turned her gaze back to the infants. “I’m waiting on the last round of tests.”

“I know this must be tough.”

“Tough?” A bitter smile twisted her lips and for the first time he glimpsed the anger and fear behind the facade. “I lost my son. My husband is hooked up to a breathing machine and God knows how many monitors. I’m waiting for the doctor who is supposed to tell me if Craig is going to be a vegetable or not. Tough? Yeah. It’s tough.”

Gage’s arms ached to hold her but remained at his sides, stiff and tense.

Adrianna’s fingers clenched a shredded tissue in a white-knuckle grip. The nurses had said that some of Craig’s friends and associates had drifted through but none had stayed long, and they’d sensed Adrianna was more of a comfort to Craig’s friends and coworkers than they to her.

“Do you have any family or friends that can come sit with you? Your mother?”

Adrianna sighed. “Thank you for asking, Gage, but I’ll manage.”

In that moment the barriers dropped. Tears brimmed in fragile eyes and spilled down her cheeks. And whatever anger or chip he’d carried washed away. He leaned into her a fraction and in an even voice whispered, “You don’t look so fine.”

His tone was riddled with pity and sadness. And that had her swiping away the tears. “It’s one foot in front of the other now.”

There was no self-pity in her voice. And that was what got to him. “When’s the last time you ate?”

A half smile was weak and apologetic. “I don’t remember.”

“Let me get you something. There’s a coffee shop in the lobby. Let me help.”

As if she’d realized how close she’d been to surrender, she stiffened. The ramparts slammed back in place. “No, I’m fine, Gage. Please just leave. I don’t want your help. You don’t belong here.”

Behind the nursery’s glass walls a baby began to cry. Adrianna turned from him and looked through the glass.

Forcing his mind to business, he cleared his throat. “I’m investigating the disappearance of a woman. Rhonda Minor. She worked for your husband. She’s been missing a couple of months.”

“Craig told me that you’d been stopping by the gallery a lot lately. That you kept questioning him about one of his employees.”

He’d been on a mission to solve this case and he believed Craig was the key. “That’s right.”

“You could have saved yourself a trip. I don’t know much about my husband’s business. He doesn’t talk about it and I don’t ask questions.”

Gage reached in his coat pocket and pulled out a photograph of Rhonda Minor. “Do me a favor, take a look at her picture.”

She didn’t touch the photo, or move closer to him, but glanced down. She studied the image. “I knew her. We met at a couple of office parties. I said hi but we never really talked.”

“Take another look. Think. She’s twenty-three. An artist. Wants to be a painter. Was there anything that she said or your husband said that would have seemed off to you?”

Adrianna glanced down a second time. “I’m sorry, I don’t know anything. Honestly.”

“Do you know Jill Lable?”

She shook her head. “No. And I’m not in the mood for a guessing game. Who is she?”

“She went to high school with Craig. She’s been missing for twelve years.”

“What are you saying, Gage?”

Gage chose his words carefully. “Just following leads on two women who were acquainted with your husband and are now missing. I was hoping he might have said something. Men tell their wives all kinds of things.”

“Like murder?”

He shrugged.

“Craig had his share of faults, but he was no murderer.”

“I’m not so sure.”

Adrianna’s eyes flashed. Too much class kept her from telling him to fuck off but her expression communicated the sentiment. “I don’t know anything. Now please leave.”

After that all leads had dried up. And then he’d read the legal notice in the
Richmond Times-Dispatch
announcing the removal of the Thornton family graves. He’d been given a second chance.

Gage maneuvered around more a slow-moving van.

Vega rested his arm on his car door and tapped his thumb. “You think Rhonda Minor is dead?”

“Yes. I think she was dead before Craig Thornton’s accident. But I’ve never proven it. I never found that other woman. But I promised myself I’d never stop looking.” Uncertainty could tear a family in two. “Rhonda’s brother still calls me about once a month to check and see if there is any new evidence.” Last time Fred Minor’s voice had cracked with anguish. September second would have been Rhonda’s twenty-sixth birthday.

“Your turn is coming up,” Vega said.

Gage glanced at the green road sign ahead that read: HONOR. “Right.”

He took the next left and wound deeper down the country road. Unlike the west end of Henrico, the east end was relatively undeveloped and rural.

Gage slowed as he drove through Honor. Dried up and forgotten, Honor wasn’t more than a collection of antique stores and novelty shops. A gas station. These days it was a bedroom community to the city of Richmond.

Following the twenty-five-mile-an-hour speed limit, he passed through town and down Route 60. Two miles beyond the town limits, he spotted the long dirt driveway marked by twin white pillars. The sign out front read: THE COLONIES.

“Imagine, being rich enough to have your own graveyard,” Vega quipped. “Man, that’s living.”

Gage reminded himself to take in air. To relax. “We can all hope to aspire.”

Vega surveyed the wooded terrain. “Makes sense that if Thornton killed those women he’d bury them here. It’s remote and would have been his home turf.”

“Yeah.”

The car bumped and rocked when he turned down the furrowed road that led them through tall oaks. When they hit a clearing, it was easy to spot the collection of pickup trucks and the yellow backhoe, which sat silent by the cemetery shaded by an old tree.

Gage put the car in PARK and shut off the engine. As he got out of the car, tension knotted his gut like it had before a big game in college. He fastened his collar, tightened his tie, and shrugged on his suit jacket as he scanned the crowd. No sign of Adrianna. He wasn’t sure if he was more relieved or disappointed.

The memory of those three days Jessie had been missing had branded him. Forever and always the case would always come first. He’d remain vigilant until every grave was excavated and every missing woman found. And any personal feelings he had for Adrianna Barrington would stay buried.

Chapter Three

Tuesday, September 26, 8:30 a.m.

The Thornton family graveyard was located in a small field near a stand of woods. A chipped black wrought-iron fence, partly shaded by a hundred-year-old oak, encased a hundred-foot-patch of land and eleven gravestones. Most were weathered, worn by wind and rain, but the three graves that stood apart from the others belonged to Adrianna’s late husband and his parents. Their marble headstones had crisp clear lines and the brass plaques remained clean and bright.

Adrianna had not realized last December when she’d buried Craig she’d ever have to move his grave. Mountains of debt had a way of realigning priorities.

She pulled off the dirt road, noting the collection of vehicles parked on the grassy field: construction trucks, the backhoe, the white Mercedes, the old Toyota, and the dark sedan. The trucks belonged to Miller Construction, the Mercedes to the land’s buyer, William Mazur, and the old car to Dr. Cyril Heckman. He held a handmade poster that read: SAVE OUR DEAD. Thankfully, Dr. Heckman hadn’t stirred media attention.

The one car she didn’t expect was a dark sedan. Parked away from the other vehicles, it lingered on the sidelines like a spider viewing prey.

As she approached the site, two men in dark suits moved around the front of the sedan. One wore scuffed cowboy boots. Their backs faced her, but she didn’t need to see faces to know the taller man. Gage Hudson. She recognized his braced stance and broad shoulders that reflected confidence almost to the point of arrogance.

Tension prickled her spine. What was Gage Hudson doing here?

“Damn it,” she muttered. The regrets she had in life were few, but Gage Hudson topped the list. Her thoughts turned to their last meeting and the questions he’d asked her about Craig. This visit was not social or coincidence.

Squaring her shoulders, she made a direct line toward Gage, opting not to run from trouble. Better to rip the proverbial Band-Aid off in one quick jerk than peel it off slowly. Less pain. She hoped.