Rite of Wrongs (22 page)

F
ORTY
-E
IGHT

Monday, 10:30 a.m.

Like Sunday, this was supposed to be Miriam’s day off, but she’d woken up to the sound of Thierry whistling on his way to work. She’d lain in bed thinking about screwed-up relationships. Hers and Thierry’s. And screwed-up families. Hers and Augie’s.

But her thoughts as she’d dressed and headed into the office had been focused mostly on the relationship between Gina and Sameen. She didn’t have a doubt the two shared a familial connection. Their parents could’ve been friends, she supposed, but she didn’t think so.

She wasn’t a big believer in coincidences, and the Shahidi woman working for the first victim’s husband had her twitching even worse than did her treatment of Esther yesterday.

Christ, but she’d been a shit.

Apologizing would be the right thing to do, but she wasn’t feeling particularly apologetic. She shouldn’t have lashed out in public; humiliating her sister had given her no pleasure.

But she was so tired of her family members’ reactions to her relationship with Augie. Past relationship, because it was done. Yet even her father, the one person who’d always supported her choices, had made it clear he wasn’t thrilled to hear Augie was back in her life.

“He’s not,” she grumbled, checking her e-mail for any updates from forensics or the crime lab. There’d been no evidence of sexual assault on any of the three victims. Franklin Weeks had not been intoxicated. Neither his tarp nor Autumn’s had given up more canine blood. Karen Sosa had gone so far as to send off what she’d found at the Gardner scene.

The sample she’d collected was 88 percent pug. Miriam being a cynic had wondered how much the owners had paid the breeder for their little purebred bundle of joy.

At least today, as long as the fosters were the killer’s only targets, there would be no new murder to add to the serial case. Meaning no call from Caring Hands relaying Dorothy Lacey’s latest ramblings about her children. No reason to check in with Edward Lacey. No excuse to question Gordon Hollis again. And since it was halfway to noon already—

“I’ve been thinking.”

She nearly toppled her chair, turning it to face her partner, who’d been as caught up in his own world and so quiet, she’d forgotten he was there. “Shit, Melvin. Don’t scare me like that.”

“Huh. And here I thought you being lost in thought was code for taking a nap.”

Even the word had her yawning. “I could use a nap.”

“Insomnia?”

She nodded. “Then I woke up thinking about Gina Gardner’s Iranian mother.”

Melvin laced his hands over his midsection. “I woke up thinking pretty much the same. She and Shahidi have got to be acquainted through more than the doctor for this bank-account thing to make any sense.”

She opened her bottom desk drawer and propped up her feet, then leaned back in her chair. “Agreed. Unless the doctor is lying about everything.”

“How so?”

“Let’s pretend for a minute that the Iranian thing is all a coincidence. I don’t believe it, but let’s pretend.” She waited for Melvin to adjust his chair and get comfortable, then went on. “Houston, and Union Park by extension, is a melting pot, so it’s not that far-fetched that we’d have two people of Iranian descent involved in the case.”

“Okay. I’m pretending.”

“What if Dr. Jeff knows everything about his wife’s past? What if she stayed close to the fosters, and he grew close to them, too? I mean, it’s not like we have any of them to ask until Darius and Corky get back. So, what if the money came from him, or from his practice?”

Melvin frowned. “Like, he’s been skimming off the top? Should we subpoena the clinic’s records?”

“Hang on. I’ll come back to that,” she said, the gears in her brain engaging, the engine picking up steam. “If Gina still thought of the fosters as siblings, maybe Jeff did, too. So those big checks wouldn’t be more than helping family out of a jam, right?”

Melvin waved a hand. “Now, keep pretending and explain why he’d involve his nurse, and have her writing them.”

“That’s where I’m having a problem. Especially since I don’t know where the money came from.”

“Let’s do Sameen first.” Melvin crossed his hands behind his head. “Does the doctor have some kind of hold on her? Is she here on a visa?”

“Nope. Born in Houston. Social Security card. Driver’s license. Passport. Diploma. She’s legit.”

He thought a minute, then . . . “You got a picture? Passport or driver’s license?”

“Yeah, why?” she asked, reaching for her mouse as Melvin got to his feet.

“Just pull it up,” he said, standing over her as she did. “Well, there you go.”

Frowning, she looked closer at the photo. Dark hair, shoulder-length and wavy. Dark eyes outlined in a deep-brown kohl. Killer cheekbones and lipstick in a sort of cherry-wood color that looked great with her skin. What was she missing? “Wait. You think they’re having an affair? The doctor and the nurse?”

Melvin rocked back on his heels. “Stranger things have been known to happen.”

“And you’re basing that on her photo?”

“Look at her, Rome. She’s gorgeous. I mean, Gina Gardner was no slouch, but Sameen’s what? Ten years younger? Fifteen?”

He had a point. Men were such pigs. “Okay, but even if they’re involved, that doesn’t explain why he would have her writing the checks. It complicates things more because of where the money was going. And if I have to think about this another second, my brain’s going to shrivel up and blow away.”

“Then let’s shelve that mystery and discuss the Prestons,” he said, returning to his desk.

Right. Carolyn and Darius were due home tomorrow. “What did you find out?”

“They haven’t been back even once since leaving last month.” He flipped through the small spiral sitting on his desk. “They support some sort of petroleum-industry software and have been doing installation and training for a big UK oil-and-engineering firm.”

“And they know we want to talk to them?”

He nodded. “They’re flying United into Bush. They get in just before four.”

“I’ll have Vince meet them.”

“You going to bring them here?”

If the killer knew the Prestons’ schedule and planned to follow them from the airport . . . no. That wouldn’t work. And Vince would need to wear street clothes and drive something that didn’t scream unmarked car. She dug out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. Her favorite patrol officer picked up on the first ring.

“Sergeant, it’s Detective Rome. What sort of personal vehicle do you drive?”

“Excuse me?”

“I need you to pick up two of our players in the Bible-verse murders from the airport tomorrow.”
The Bible-verse murders.
Good grief. That sounded like a tabloid headline. “But you can’t go in looking like police.”

“I drive an Acura.”

Ooh, Nikki would approve. “Perfect. I’ll text you the flight details and where to bring them. And I’ll let your boss know you’re on detail for me.”

“Will do,” Vince said, then disconnected. And he hadn’t once said
ma’am
.

Miriam tapped her phone against her chin. “Now, to decide where to have this meeting.”

Melvin arched a brow as if it were a given. “Well, they can’t come here. And we can’t go there. Not if we want to keep our involvement a secret. We don’t want to be out in the open. And this isn’t a conversation to have in public.”

She nodded. He was right. “I’ll call Augie.”

P
ART
T
HREE

F
ORTY
-N
INE

Tuesday, 5:45 p.m.

Miriam turned at the sound of the sanctuary doors opening. She’d been pacing the main aisle from the entrance to the altar, waiting for Sergeant Vince to arrive with the Prestons, and would’ve fried a step counter if she’d been wearing one.

Deputy Chief Judah had arranged to have Sergeant Vince meet the couple in Customs. There, Vince was to explain to the two that their connection to the Lacey family had them in danger. Then he’d play Uber driver and whisk them back to Union Park.

It wasn’t the optimal way of handling an interrogation, but the couple’s holiday that had them completely off the grid left Miriam’s team little choice.

At least Judah had been able to get their itinerary from the company that had contracted them. Miriam would’ve hated to have staked out their place, waiting for their return, only to have them ambushed on the road between the airport and home.

“Thank you, Sergeant Vince,” she said, then added, “Robert, thank you,” shaking his hand once she reached the officer who’d escorted the Prestons inside the church.

He was dressed in civilian gear: jeans with wear in all the right places; a white Henley pullover, unbuttoned; a pair of red-leather Nike shoes in what looked like a snakeskin print.

His left wrist sported a big gold watch, and he wore a gold chain around his neck. His badge was in an inconspicuous folder at his hip. One of these days she was actually going to remember to introduce him to Nikki.

He gave her a nod, then moved to the pew across from the ones Melvin and Augie were leaning against. That left the evening’s guests standing like a couple headed together to the altar to pray.

Carolyn Dell Preston stood five feet seven and wore her straight brown hair in a center part. It hung to the middle of her back. She appeared overly thin in skinny black leggings and an ivory-and-pine-striped tunic. Spruce-colored half-moons marred the pale skin between her cheekbones and brown eyes.

She hung on to her husband’s arm as if she would blow away were she to let go. Miriam could see it happening. The woman was a wisp of nerves.

Darius Preston wasn’t much taller, maybe five feet nine. He was African American, though lighter-skinned than Sergeant Vince. His hair was clipped close, as were his beard and mustache. He, too, was thin, though not brittle-looking like his wife. He made Miriam think of Jet Li, wiry and quick and tough in his Texas Aggies T-shirt and jeans.

Together, however, they presented a picture of wariness. Of anxious uncertainty. Of fear.

Of course they did. It wasn’t every day one was met at the airport by the police after a month working abroad. Their absence made the news she had to deliver that much harder.

She offered Darius her hand, then shook Carolyn’s. The woman’s fingers felt like frozen Q-tips. “I’m Detective Miriam Rome. This is Detective Melvin Stonebridge. You’ve met Sergeant Vince. And this is Father Augustine Treece. Thank you for agreeing to meet us here.”

“It didn’t sound like we had much of a choice.” This was Darius, giving Vince a cold regard, and obviously spooked behind his facade of indignation.

“He said it was for our own safety, Darius. Don’t forget.” Carolyn appeared just as apprehensive, though more exhausted than anything.

“I know this seems unorthodox,” Miriam said, “but we couldn’t risk being seen visiting you at home, or having you come to the station.”

Darius dropped his backpack from his shoulder to the floor. “Seen by who? Because I gotta say, you have us pretty wound up. We get home after a killer work trip and a too-short vacation, and are met at the airport by a cop? What’s going on?”

“Trust me,” Melvin said, pushing away from the pew to face the man. “Carolyn is right. This is about your safety.”

“Well, I’m going to need you to explain how pretty quick, or we’re going home.”

“It’s about Gina,” Miriam said before Darius went on. “And Franklin. And Autumn. While you were gone . . .”

Only when she got that far, she stopped. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words, and she didn’t know why. This was her job. This is what she did.

“While we were gone, what?” Darius asked, his voice steely when she would’ve expected it to shake.

It was Augie who answered, looking at Miriam as she struggled to find her voice. “I’m sorry to tell you they were all killed. They were all . . . murdered.”

“Murdered?” Darius asked, not quite so steely now. “I don’t understand.”

Carolyn barely squeaked out a harsh, “What are you talking about?”

“All of them?” Darius looked at his wife, then back to Miriam. “How? Why? Were they together when it happened? Have you caught whoever was responsible?”

Miriam shook her head, hoping Darius understood she had nothing much to tell him.

Carolyn sobbed out, “Oh, my God,” sagging against her husband. He caught her as her knees gave way and guided her to the nearest pew, sitting beside her as she collapsed.

Augie put a hand on Miriam’s shoulder. “I’ve got water in my office.”

She nodded; she had no voice, and he turned to jog toward the front of the sanctuary. Not that water—or even tequila—would help at this point. She couldn’t imagine coming home from a month away to find out her siblings had been killed. Because to Carolyn and Darius, both in their late forties, the murder victims were exactly that.

Their brother. Their two sisters.

She moved to the pew in front of theirs and sat at an angle, facing them. “I’m so sorry to spring this on you, but we didn’t want you to go home without knowing.”

“Because we’re in danger, too?” Carolyn asked.

“We have to assume so,” Miriam said. “The background you all share, being fostered by Dorothy Lacey, is the only connection we’ve been able to make among the vic—among the three who were killed.” She kept the information about Sameen Shahidi to herself for now.

Augie returned then with six water bottles in a plastic ring. He pulled off one for Carolyn, then the rest of the group passed them around. Miriam took the last, looking up as Augie moved in beside her, standing to face the Prestons where they sat.

Darius stared down at the top of his bottle. “Let me get this straight. All of this happened during the last month?”

Miriam nodded, waiting to hear what he was thinking, not wanting to reveal how desperate she was for anything he or his wife had to offer. She lifted her bottle to drink, looking at Melvin as she did. He was on the same pins and needles.

“It’s got to be someone from our past, don’t you think?” Darius asked. “I mean, no one else would know we’d grown up together. We all went our separate ways after high school.”

Miriam caught and held his gaze. “But you stayed close? The five of you? All this time?”

He nodded, his wife adding a verbal “Yes.”

Then Miriam asked, “But not with Edward?”

“We never were close to Edward,” Carolyn said. “Not in the way we were with each other. I mean, we were friendly, but the dynamic was different, what with him being Dorothy’s son, and enjoying that position of . . . power, I guess you’d say.”

Her husband picked up where she left off. “You gotta know that we all came into that home with huge strikes against us. It’s a miracle how well we turned out.”

Melvin gripped the end of Miriam’s pew and leaned forward. “I’m going to take a guess that you all helped each other get there.”

“Some of us more than others,” Darius said, his wife responding with a sad smile and leaning her head on his shoulder. Tears sparkled on her cheeks.

“What about Gordon?” Miriam asked. She was glad the couple was safe. She was happy they’d found each other and survived their years in the system. But all this touchy-feely stuff wasn’t getting her any closer to finding out who’d killed the fosters. “And Van Lacey? You knew them, right?”

“Van was there for several years, yes,” Carolyn said. “He was a great guy, but Dorothy ruled the roost. And Gordon . . . if you’ve met him, you can see that he’d be hard not to like.”

His wife’s comments had Darius asking, “Do they know? About the murders?”

“Gordon may not,” Miriam said. “But both Dorothy and Edward do.”

The couple let that sink in. Darius picked at loose threads covering a hole on his knee; Carolyn toyed with her water bottle and blew out a long, heavy sigh.

“What?” Miriam asked, curious as she prompted her to go on.

Her mouth twisted wryly, Carolyn said, “I guess this explains Edward’s e-mail.”