Rite of Wrongs (10 page)

T
WENTY

Wednesday, 10:00 a.m.

Edward Lacey worked in the corporate headquarters of a regional sporting-goods super chain. The building was near the energy corridor on Houston’s west side and a block from the company’s warehouse, which was nearly the size of Montana.

Or so it seemed to Miriam as she and Melvin drove by. The freight-carrying ends of tractor-trailer rigs sat backed into cargo bays as far as she could see. She stopped counting the row at twenty-six. And that was just one side of the massive structure.

Sports were not her thing. If she didn’t need yoga to keep her body limber, she would happily have spent her time off on the beach: reading, napping, dipping her toes in the water, digging them into the sand. She loved the sand. And she loved the sun. As long as she wasn’t working in it while wearing long pants, long sleeves, and boots.

“You would not believe how much money these stores have sucked out of my paycheck,” Melvin said, making the turn into the office-complex parking lot. “Fishing tackle. Mosquito repellent. Soccer cleats. For Lincoln and Zoe both. Violet got her treadmill here. And her spinner bike. Damn pricey for clothes racks, you ask me.”

Miriam smiled, picturing Violet Stonebridge’s beautiful curves, and doubting the exercise equipment saw much time as anything but what it was intended for.

Inside at the reception desk, she pulled out her badge. “Detectives Rome and Stonebridge to see Edward Lacey. He’s expecting us.”

The young blue-eyed blonde had probably been a high-school cheerleader. She had that bright, peppy look. “His office is on the second floor.” She gestured to the sweeping staircase behind her leading to glass-walled offices above. “To the left, at the far end.”

“Thank you,” Melvin said, with a tap-tap of his hand on the glass top of her station.

“Leaving prints for her to clean?” Miriam asked once out of earshot.

“I do like making my mark,” he said, then gave a grunt as they started the climb. “But I fucking hate stairs.”

Miriam half expected Edward Lacey to be dressed in a pair of fancy kicks and zebra stripes like those the receptionist had been wearing. Instead, he had on khaki Dockers and classic brown loafers, with a navy collared pullover sporting the company logo.

He also wore an expensive stainless-steel Tag Heuer watch.

Seemed sports paid pretty well.

Once inside his office, which was carpeted with what looked like artificial turf, Miriam stepped to the side and allowed him to close the door. She waited until he was behind his desk before speaking. “I’m Detective Miriam Rome. This is Detective Melvin Stonebridge. Thank you for seeing us.”

“Of course. Anything to help law enforcement. Please sit,” he said, gesturing toward the two chairs facing his desk. He stood just over six feet tall and weighed no more than 160. His dark hair was cut short and combed forward, his long nose hooked, both fitting his lean frame. But he seemed quite physically fit, and his concern appeared genuine.

He held off until they were seated before settling into his own chair. “I understand this is related somehow to my mother?”

“In a way, yes.” Though Miriam wasn’t going to start there. “Do you know, or did you know, a Gina Gardner? Or a Franklin Weeks?”

“Frank, yeah, sure,” he said, frowning. “We grew up together. He was just in the news, wasn’t he? He’d been killed? I was so sorry to hear that.”

Miriam clicked the end of her pen and opened her notebook on her crossed knee. She wrote
Edward Lacey
at the top of a new page, underlining the name, then started her interview notes.
Grew up with Franklin Weeks
. “What about Gina?”

“Gina Gardner, you said?” His frown deepened, giving him the look of a Roman senator. “I knew a Gina. Years ago. At the same time I knew Frank. My mother fostered them both, but I don’t recall her last name. That had to be, what? Forty years now? Thirty-five, at least.”

Bless you, Dorothy Lacey.
Demented or not, the woman had connected the murders with something more substantial than blood and Bible verses.

“Wait a minute.” Edward drummed an index finger on his desktop, then pointed it at Miriam. “The doctor’s wife was Gina. The one on the news. Oh, my God. It was her, wasn’t it? Gardner must’ve been her married name.”

“It was her, yes,” Melvin said. “That’s actually why we’re here.”

“Are their deaths related?” he asked, his voice rising with a panicked sort of curiosity. “I mean, of course they are, if both were killed—”

“We’re looking into that, which is why we would appreciate your telling us everything you can,” Miriam said. When Edward nodded, his face having paled, she went on. “If you didn’t know Gina’s married name, I guess you didn’t keep in touch?”

“No, no. I hadn’t seen or heard from either of them in decades. I mean, I had no reason to,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact rather than regretful. “They left home when they were eighteen. I left, too. Not like any of us had reason to stick around.”

“Any of us.” Melvin sat straighter. “As in you, Gina, and Frank?”

“And the others,” he said, the words dropping like a gift into Miriam’s lap. “There were three more. Autumn, Darius, and Corky. I’m sorry I don’t remember their last names, either. Autumn’s may have been Carter. Or Carson. I’m not sure.”

The names Dorothy had kept to herself. Miriam glanced at Melvin. He met her gaze, his jaw tight, a tic throbbing at his temple. Three more foster kids. She didn’t even want to think about what that could mean for the next three Mondays.

Clicking her pen, she turned back to Edward. “Your mother’s nurse, José Diaz, said you visit. Is that regularly?”

“Every Sunday, yes.” He sat back in his chair, crossed his legs. “I used to take her with me to church, but it’s become too confusing for her to leave Caring Hands. She doesn’t do well with surroundings outside of the senior center. You’ve met her. You’ve seen that her memory’s not what it used to be.”

Miriam hadn’t yet decided how she felt about Dorothy Lacey’s memory. “Does she remember you? When you visit?”

“Some days she does.” He sighed, turning his chair to look out the window at the trucks pulling into traffic from the warehouse. “We read Scriptures together, pray together. I always take notes during Sunday service so I can tell her about the sermon.”

“She enjoys hearing that, I guess,” Melvin said.

Before Edward could respond, Miriam asked, “What church do you attend?”

“First Baptist, though I don’t know why when Tri-County is closer now. You get used to a place, I guess . . .” He left the sentence unfinished, then gave a shrug, as if he had no other explanation. “Mother was always fond of Pastor Young. I’m not even sure she realizes he’s gone. Or maybe she does, and that’s why she’s extra critical.”

“Of the sermon?”

“Of the sermon. Of me. Of both.” He shook his head, then rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I mean, she wants to hear what was said. She actually insists. On her good days, in fact, she’s pretty adamant that everything else can wait. Including news from her week or mine.”

For some reason, his words had Miriam thinking about penitents flogging themselves. About wearing crowns of thorns and hair shirts. She wondered what it had been like living in a home where God was the head of the household.

She wondered if Augie would know. “She’s still devout, then.”

“Her religion seems to be the one thing she hasn’t forgotten.”

Even though nothing about her language or attitude had reflected a Christian kindness.

“And growing up?” Melvin asked. “You attended church then, too?”

He nodded. “Twice on Sunday. Wednesday nights, too. Then there was vacation Bible school. Revivals once or twice a year. Youth groups. Visiting missionaries. You name it, we were there. Whether we wanted to be or not.”

That surprised her. Not the sentiment so much as the fact that he’d shared it. It didn’t seem like something he might want strangers to know. Or perhaps because they were strangers he felt safe revealing what his family and friends might find blasphemous.

He wore a wedding ring, and a framed photo on the credenza behind his desk showed what appeared to be a happy family. Edward with a wife and two teenage boys, all smiling, the group of four dressed in what looked like softball jerseys.

She wondered if First Baptist had a team. If the family that prayed together, played together. “Does your family attend with you?” she asked, nodding toward the picture.

“My wife does. Our youngest son is the only one still at home, but he’s usually tied up with some school project. Or working. Or off with friends.”

Interesting. The man hadn’t carried on in the family tradition. “The foster children who lived with you. Did they go, too?”

“Of course.”

“And your father?”

That had Edward looking down at his desk. “He did. Until he didn’t.”

“He just quit?” Melvin asked, before Miriam could. “Did that cause conflict between him and your mother?”

“Well, no.” Edward’s soft laugh faded into a sigh. “But that’s because he wasn’t there.”

“Are your parents divorced?”

“That’s a good question,” he said, causing Miriam to frown. “If they are, I never knew anything about it. He was there one day, and the next he was gone.”

She made a note before asking, “How old were you then?”

“Sixteen, I think. Maybe seventeen.”

“Has he been in touch with you since?”

Edward answered with a shake of his head.

Miriam noted that, too, then asked, “Where were you living then?”

“Here. In Union Park.”

“So, you’ve lived here your whole life?” When he nodded, she continued, “Were you older than the children your mother took in?”

“Gina was older than me. Frank and I were only three months apart. The others were all younger, but only by a year or so. We were all pretty close in age.”

“Were you pretty close in other ways?”

It had been Melvin who asked, and Edward turned to him. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Were you friends?” Melvin pushed to stand, then moved to look at the trophies and plaques on the office bookshelf. “Did you get along? Was there any, you know, hanky-panky between anyone?”

“I’m pretty sure Frank had a thing for Darius, but Darius was all about the girls. Other than that, no.” Edward picked up a pencil from the center of his desk and held it by both ends, then rolled it back and forth. “Except for none of us being related, I suppose it was no different from growing up with blood siblings. One day we’d share secrets. The next we’d beat the crap out of each other.”

Miriam thought about growing up with Esther and Erik. She’d been the youngest by five years. She’d gotten away with the most. But she’d suffered her fair share of punches to the shoulder and pulled hair. Usually when she’d swiped Erik’s stolen cigarettes. Or Esther’s diary.

She thought again about Gina Gardner’s journal. “Did all the fosters stay until they were eighteen? Were any of them there for only a short time?”

He shook his head. “No. Once they were there, they stayed. You would’ve had to know my mother then to understand. She took in kids that had no chance of going home again. Abusive parents, parents in prison. Parents deceased. No other option for any of them.”

Melvin gripped the back of the chair where he’d been sitting. “Are you saying that out of those five kids, not a one had other relatives to take them in?”

Edward looked at Melvin solemnly. “They might have had them. But they didn’t have anyone willing. The fosters . . . I remember Gina and Frank especially. They were troubled. Damaged. They weren’t good kids.”

Dr. Gardner had said Gina had gone into the system at five years old. Miriam wondered if she’d had a juvie record while with Dorothy Lacey. Wondered, too, if it was sealed, and jotted herself a note to find out. Same with Franklin. And what were the others’ names?

Darius, Autumn, and . . . Corky. “Do you know if Corky was a nickname?”

“It was all I ever knew her as,” Edward said. “It was all I ever heard her called.”

“Her, you say?” Melvin asked. “Corky wasn’t a him? Because that name sure makes me think of a boy.”

Edward didn’t even pretend his smile was anything but patronizing. “No, Detective. Corky was definitely a girl. I do know the difference.”

Miriam met Melvin’s gaze, then asked with more pleasure than she should probably feel, “One last thing. Can you tell us where you were the last two Monday mornings?”

It took a moment for Edward to respond, and when he did, Miriam wasn’t quite sure if his laugh was devious or disbelieving. “Check with my assistant, Kristin, on your way out. She keeps my calendar.”

Wednesday, 11:20 a.m.

Miriam climbed into the SUV’s passenger seat, slammed the door, and buckled her seatbelt. Then she did her best to sit quietly while every cell in her body urged her to scream.

Letting Melvin see her frustration would only have him clucking his tongue. Then he’d ask her something that would switch her back to a productive train of thought and off the track to blood-pressure meds. That was why they worked so well together.

He didn’t let anything get to him. And he made sure she kept her own agitation in check.