Nine Years Gone (17 page)

As I walked toward the parking lot, I took out my cell phone and tapped out a single-word message to Vince.

Yates?

Realistically, I shouldn’t have expected anything, but I kept my phone out anyway and watched as the seconds passed, hoping Vince would call me back right away. Of course, it was the middle of the afternoon, and Vince was a well-paid professional. Likely, he was interviewing witnesses or beating the bushes for leads, or watching over my wife and niece, doing the work I’d hired him for. Once I reached my car, I slipped my phone in my pocket and drove off, arriving in Old Webster an hour later.

Rather than park straightaway, I pulled around the block near my office twice, looking for Tess’s white Nissan or anything else out of place. Minivans surrounded Bristol Elementary School, and children scampered from its slide to the merry-go-round to the swings on its playground. Even with my windows closed, their high, shrill shouts and laughter carried into my car. That sort of noise used to grate on me, but now I found it strangely calming, a reminder that for most people the world was still as it should be. In an ideal world, Ashley would be out there with them. Or if not on that particular playground, at least she’d be on a playground somewhere with people who made her feel safe. She deserved that. Every kid does.

When I couldn’t find anything out of place in the neighborhood, I parked in the lot behind my building and went inside. I wrote emails to my editor about an upcoming book signing at a library in Indianapolis and tried to get in touch with Katherine, but her phone went to voicemail. I left her a message to tell her that I loved her and to ask her to give Ashley a hug for me. Vince called me back at a little after five. Before I could even say anything, he sighed.

“I looked up Brandon Yates this morning. He’s dead.”

I felt my shoulders slump. “How?”

“Shot in the head.”

“Was it Tess?”

“Nah,” said Vince. “Seems he found religion after college. He changed his name, married a girl from Salt Lake City, and became a minister in Atlanta. That’s why I couldn’t find him earlier.”

“What happened?”

“Mugger shot him after he took his kids to a Braves game. Yates gave up his wallet, his keys, his watch and everything else he had on him, but he tried talking to his mugger, you know, doing ministerial work. Guy shot him in the head in front of his kids.”

“They catch the shooter?” I asked.

“Yeah,” said Vince. “Turned himself in. Apparently, he felt guilty for shooting the good minister. Mugger was a strung-out meth user who said his finger got twitchy when Yates started talking about Jesus. It was a tragedy all the way around.”

I leaned back. “Did you talk to his family? His dad had to know something about Holly or he wouldn’t have pressured the police to close the case. Or maybe he talked to his wife or another minister. Maybe he felt the need to confess.”

“Even if he did talk to his wife or another minister about Holly, it wouldn’t be admissible in court. It’s all privileged information.”

“I’m not interested in getting information into court. I’m interested in shutting Tess down. If we get somebody to talk, maybe that’d be enough to scare her off.”

“I’m not going to ask a grieving widow if her husband ever murdered somebody, so just stop right there.”

“Sorry,” I said, grimacing and thinking better of my suggestion. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Don’t worry about it. What do you want to do?”

“At this point, we don’t have much that links Holly and Tess.”

“They were roommates,” said Vince. “I’m sure we can find records to prove that.”

I leaned forward. “But nothing we can act on right away. That doesn’t leave us with a lot of options.”

“You can still run.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I met with Tess this morning. You haven’t seen her. Wherever I go, she’s going to follow.”

Vince cleared his throat. “She killed Isaac, or at least participated in it. Police might be able to catch her on that.”

“If Captain Morgan couldn’t break me in an interrogating room, there’s no way he’ll break Moses or her.”

“Then what do you want to do?”

“I’m thinking about doing something stupid.”

“Good for you, thinking about it first,” said Vince. “Usually, when you think about doing something stupid, you just do it without telling anyone.”

“Right now, Tess thinks she can do whatever she wants because everyone else thinks she’s dead. That’s her leverage. I’m going to bring her into the open.”

“And how are you going to do that?”

“Let me worry about it,” I said. “I need you to go to Chicago with Katherine. Do you have her phone number?”

“Katherine and I have already talked. We’re driving to Chicago right now. She and Ashley are in the car ahead of me.”

“That’s one less thing to worry about. Thank you,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief. “If you need money, let me know.”

Vince sighed. “I suppose it’s too much for me to warn you to keep your head low.”

“This isn’t the time to stick my head in the sand.”

“Just try not to get shot.”

“Thanks.”

I hung up and flipped through my recent call list until I came to a call from Captain Morgan. Hopefully this was a good idea.

Captain Morgan didn’t want to talk to me, but he agreed to come over when I said I had information about Isaac Cohen’s murder. After Morgan, I called Andrew Kimble, an old fraternity brother of mine who now worked in the prosecutor’s office. He was at his son’s soccer game, but he agreed to come to my office as soon as he could afterward.

Captain Morgan arrived first. He wore a wrinkled white shirt and he had at least a day’s worth of growth on his chin. I try not to judge people based on physical appearances, but he had looked better. Of course, the same could probably be said of me. I walked to my coffee maker and grabbed the carafe.

“You want decaf or regular?” I asked.

“I want to know why you called me here.”

“And I’ll tell you as soon as Andrew Kimble arrives.”

Morgan sat on the armrest of my couch and crossed his arms, staring at me. “Andrew Kimble, as in the prosecutor?”

“Yeah. I thought he should be here for what I have to say.”

“All right, then,” said Morgan. “Regular.”

“Good,” I said, going to my supply closet for the coffee and a new filter. “That’s all I’ve got.”

“Got any of that Italian roast you liked so much?”

It took me a moment to remember our conversation at the coffee shop downtown. “Fresh out. Sorry.”

“You going to waste my time here like you did downtown?”

“I guarantee that I’m not going to waste your time. In fact, you do your job right tonight, you’ll be a hero by tomorrow morning.”

Morgan smirked. “Oh, what a truly happy day that will be.”

I put on the coffee and cleaned a couple of mugs. The door opened again before I finished.

“Steve?” called Andrew. “I came as quickly as I could.”

I poked my head out of the restroom as I dried a mug. “We’re upstairs.”

Andrew vaulted up the stairs, a concerned look on his face. He wasn’t kidding when he said he’d be over as soon as he could; he still wore a red coach’s jersey from his kid’s team, black nylon shorts, and cleats. As soon as he saw Morgan, a puzzled look crossed his face and he stopped moving.

“Captain,” he said, nodding at Morgan.

“Counselor,” said Morgan, returning the greeting. He looked at me. “Where’s that coffee, Hale?”

I poured him a cup and handed it to him. “Sorry I’m not a more efficient host.” I looked at Andrew. “You want a cup of coffee? It’s regular.”

“No. I want to know why I’m here with the Captain of the Major Case Squad.”

I went back to the coffee maker, poured myself a cup, and then walked to my desk. Andrew sat down on the couch and crossed his arms.

“What was so important you had to call me from my kid’s soccer game?”

I looked at Andrew and then to Morgan. “First of all, let me apologize for ruining both of your evenings. I know you have better things to do.”

“Get on with it, Hale,” said Morgan.

“Well, I guess I’ll just come right out with it. Tess Girard is alive and well, and she’s in St. Louis right now. Dominique did not murder her. Hell, he didn’t even kidnap her. The state executed an innocent man.”

Neither police officer nor prosecutor responded for at least thirty seconds, but then they spoke at the same time. Morgan gestured for Andrew to go first.

“Shut up and stop talking right now,” he said, glancing at Captain Morgan. “From this moment on, I am acting as Mr. Hale’s attorney until such time as he can secure more appropriate counsel.”

“I called because you’re a fair prosecutor, not because I needed an attorney.”

Andrew shook his head. “I’ve already recused myself from any investigation or prosecution you might be involved in. I can’t touch this case as a prosecutor, but I can tell you that you need a lawyer right now.”

“How do you know Ms. Girard is still alive?” asked Morgan, ignoring Andrew.

“Please stop asking my client questions,” said Andrew, standing so that he acted as a physical barrier between Morgan and me. “He and I need to talk. Unless he’s under arrest, you need to leave.”

“Thank you, but I need to do this,” I said, looking at Andrew. I stepped around him and looked at Captain Morgan. “She’s alive. You have to trust me.”

“How do you know?” asked Morgan.

“I invoke my Fifth Amendment Right against self incrimination.”

Morgan snorted and then leaned forward to stand up. He looked at Andrew. “Once you two work out this little spat, give me a call. Otherwise don’t waste my time again.”

“She’s staying at the Omni hotel downtown under the name Lauren Hampton. It’s her grandmother’s last name.” Morgan stopped walking. I took that as a sign that I should keep talking. “When we spoke last night, you asked why I had an interest in Holly Olson. This is it. Tess and a man named Brandon Yates killed her.”

Morgan put his hands in his pockets and leaned back. “So, if I go to the Omni hotel right now, I’m going to find Tess Girard?”

“Maybe. I don’t know,” I said. “Knowing her, she’s probably checked out by now.”

“All right, then,” said Morgan, nodding. “I’ll look into that. While I’m here, let’s talk about Moses Tarawally. What’s your connection to him?”

“Through Tess. Moses worked for Dominique Girard. He broke into my house, and he killed my dog near the River des Peres. A young homeless girl saw it. She’ll tell you, and she’ll tell you that Tess was with him.”

“So Moses and Tess are working together?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“To what end?” asked Morgan.

“She’s trying to ruin my life,” I said. “Him, I don’t know. Tess has used men she was sleeping with before.”

“Did Ms. Girard kill Isaac Cohen?” asked Andrew.

“Probably not directly, but she may have convinced Tarawally to do so. I called you guys so Captain Morgan could find out.”

Morgan silently stared at me long enough that it felt uncomfortable. He then looked at Andrew. “Please tell your client not to waste my time like this again.” He looked at me. “And listen to Mr. Kimble. Get yourself a lawyer.”

Morgan started to leave, so I grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back. “This isn’t a snipe hunt or a wild goose chase or whatever cliché you want to call it. She’s here.”

He looked at my hand and then to my face, his eyebrow raised. “Please get your hand off me.” I let go of his jacket. “Don’t call me again. If we need to talk, I’ll find you.”

Morgan left the office as quietly as he had come in. Andrew sighed and looked at me, his eyebrows upraised. “Don’t ever do this to me again.”

“Sorry.”

He looked at me from my face to my feet and then turned toward the front door. “Get a lawyer, Steve. And not me.”

As he left my office, I sank into my chair.

That could have gone better.

I called Katherine again after Andrew left. This time, she answered. She, Vince, and Ashley were on their way to Chicago, where they had already booked two adjoining rooms at the Park Hyatt. Katherine’s parents would ask questions about why I had asked their daughter to stay in a hotel with a man who wasn’t her husband, but Katherine could handle it. Besides that, nothing would change their opinion of me. Her parents liked me well enough, her drunken brother once told me, but they didn’t think their daughter should settle for a fledgling writer. They thought that she could do better than me, and I was honest enough with myself to agree. Sadly, my present predicament would not have endeared me any further to them.

We didn’t talk long, but both Katherine and Ashley seemed to be in high spirits. Ashley thought they were on vacation with Uncle Vince, and I did nothing to disabuse her of that notion. I did, however, dampen her mood somewhat when I told her that if she wasn’t back home by Monday, I’d go by her school to coordinate her homework assignments with her teacher. After that, I told Katherine that I loved her and that I was thinking about her. She said likewise, which was nice. I didn’t feel that everything was right between us after I hung up, but I felt like it could be. One day, Katherine and I would look back on this part of our life and we’d be able to say that we persevered, that we were okay despite what happened. It might take a while, but we’d be there. At least I hoped so.

After hanging up, I had dinner at an Irish pub a few blocks from my office and then went home to watch some TV and then sleep. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to sleep very long, because at just before four in the morning, my phone rang, jolting me awake. Sweat moistened my hair and sheets, and my heart raced. I must have been having a dream, and judging by the state of the bed, it wasn’t pleasant. I glanced at the phone and rubbed my eyes.

Unknown Caller.

I snatched the phone from its cradle. “This is Steve Hale.”

“I apologize if I woke you up. I know what an inconvenience these early-morning calls can be.”

It was Leonard Morgan. The gears in my mind instantly began parsing his statement, looking for a hidden meaning.

“Are Katherine and Ashley okay?”

“Your wife and niece? I assume so. I’m not calling about them, at least.”

My heart slowed. “Why are you calling?”

“I wanted to give you some forewarning. A detective from my department is on his way to pick you up.”

I hesitated. “Do I need a lawyer?”

“Nah,” said Morgan. “This isn’t that kind of call. If I were you, though, I’d get yourself cleaned up and put on some decent clothes. The first news van is already here.”

“What’s going on?”

“My officer will brief you on the way.” Morgan paused and inhaled deeply. “This is going to be awkward. Just to warn you.”

He hung up before I could ask him to elaborate. I ran my hands across my face and rubbed my eyes, hoping to wake myself up. Within half an hour, a plainclothes detective in a navy blue suit stood at my door. I let him in and offered him a drink while I combed my hair and brushed my teeth. We left at 4:30, not even a trace of sunrise on the horizon.

“Am I under arrest?” I asked, locking my front door.

“No,” said the detective. “How much did Leonard tell you?”

I pocketed my keys and turned to the detective. He could have passed for twenty-five, but he was probably in his early thirties. He had ruddy-colored skin, like he had just pushed himself hard on a run, and brown sideburns that were, perhaps, a little too bushy to be in accordance with departmental regulation. In contrast, his light blue oxford shirt was utterly without wrinkles and not a single hair on his head was out of place.

“He said you’d brief me,” I said, holding out my hand. “I’m Steve Hale, by the way.”

“Detective Traffort.”

The detective’s hands, at variance with his neat dress, felt rough and callused, more like the hands of a construction worker than a guy who sat at a desk all day.

“So where are we going?” I asked, heading toward the car.

“Wentzville,” said Traffort. I started to open the back door, but the detective stopped me. “I’m not chauffeuring you around. Get in the front.”

That told me something important. Had Traffort or Morgan suspected me of a crime, I would have been in the back, likely with my hands secured. I opened the front passenger door and sat down. Even though I wasn’t a big man, the entire car dipped half an inch or so.

“What’s in Wentzville?”

“The Super 8 Motel,” said Traffort, climbing into the driver’s seat. “We found Tess Girard.”

I leaned forward. “Did you arrest her?”

Traffort looked at me crosswise and then pulled away from the curb. “Of course not.”

“She’s not dead, is she?” I asked.

“No,” said Traffort cocking his head to the side and blinking at me. “Thanks to you, she’s alive and fine. We thought you’d be appreciative.”

“I am,” I said. “What happened?”

Traffort straightened and kept his eyes on the road. “After Leonard met with you tonight, he pulled my partner and me off a surveillance detail—thank you for that, by the way—and asked us if we could call area hotels to ask if anyone matching Tess Girard’s description had checked in. We checked out the Omni, but Lauren Hampton had checked out. We then faxed an old yearbook picture of Ms. Girard to every hotel within a hundred-mile radius. Got lucky and a manager at the Super 8 in Wentzville called us back.”

I leaned back in the seat. “She didn’t have anything in the room that would give you cause to arrest her?”

Traffort, again, looked at me crosswise. “I don’t know what you expected, but we found her handcuffed to the toilet with packing tape over her mouth.”

I crossed my arms for warmth. “And how’d she explain that one?”

Traffort flicked on his blinker light and turned into the parking lot of a bank about a block from the interstate. He looked at me, his brow narrowed. “I’m taking you to see a traumatized woman. She’s been through more than you can imagine, and for some reason, she wants to see you. If you’re disrespectful to her, I’ll make you regret it. Are we clear on that, Mr. Hale?”

“I don’t know what Tess told you, but—”

“All right,” said Traffort sharply, interrupting me. “You want to know what Ms. Girard told us? She said her father’s chief of security, Moses Tarawally, kidnapped her nine years ago and has held her in the basement of a house near Salt Lake City ever since.”

“You guys actually believe that story?” I asked, raising my eyebrow. “Why would Tarawally, a guy who isn’t afraid to kill people, kidnap her and keep her alive for all this time?”

“Aside from nightly sexual assaults, we have evidence that indicates Mr. Tarawally tried to extort twenty million dollars from Dominique Girard for Tess’s safe return.”

“Moses sure chose the wrong mark. Dominique didn’t give two shits about his daughter.”

“Is that what you think?” asked Traffort, his voice still sharp. “Because I have documents that show Mr. Girard liquidated everything he had to save his daughter.”

“Stepdaughter,” I said. “Tess was his stepdaughter. And he was probably liquidating his assets to keep them from his wife.”

“Whoever she was to him, he died protecting her,” said Traffort. “He could have brought this out in the open himself, but he didn’t because he knew Moses would kill Ms. Girard. He kept quiet, and he let us execute him because it was the only way to keep her alive. Guy was a fucking hero if you ask me.”

Dominique was one of the vilest human beings I’ve ever met, but I doubted Traffort would be too interested in hearing that now.

“And Tess told you this . . .
story
?”

“What did I say about being respectful?” asked Traffort, his brow raised.

I waited a moment. “Did Tess tell you this?”

“She not only told us, she gave us bank documents and Moses’ phone. Its call history showed calls to the Potosi Correctional Institute once a month for the past three years.”

I rarely used prisoners as research material, but I had a conversation with a convicted murderer at an Indiana prison once. Before the call even went through, a recorded voice warned me that all calls to the prison were recorded and reviewed. If Moses and Dominique actually did have conversations, Traffort would discover that Tess had lied about their content soon enough.

“I’m glad she’s safe.”

“You’d better be,” said Traffort, putting the car back into drive. “You can relax, too. Since we have Tarawally in custody, your family’s safe.”

I doubted that very much. “Moses was never my concern.”

“He should have been. When he found out Ms. Girard talked to you on the phone, he broke into your house looking for you. When he couldn’t find you, he took your dog to the River des Peres and killed him in front of Ms. Girard. He told her that if she ever tried to contact you again, he’d do the same to you or your wife.”

I nodded. “Let me guess. Tess told you that, too.”

Traffort didn’t look at me. “Yes.”

“Did you consider that she’s lying to you?”

Traffort glanced at me and then back to the road. “She was handcuffed to a toilet. I think she’s earned the benefit of my doubt. Now shut up until we get to the hotel.”