Undone (34 page)

“Maybe they saw something?” Will suggested.

Faith looked at the neighbor’s house. It was huge, the sort of McMansion you usually only saw in the suburbs. The top two stories had large decks and the basement had a terraced seating area with a brick fireplace. All the shutters and blinds on the back of the house were closed except for a pair of curtains that were pulled back on one of the basement doors.

“Looks empty,” she said.

“Probably a foreclosure.” Will tried Olivia Tanner’s back door. It was locked. “Olivia has been missing since at least yesterday. If she’s one of our victims, that means she was either taken right before or right after Pauline.” He checked the windows. “Are we thinking Jake Berman might be Pauline McGhee’s brother?”

“It’s possible,” Faith conceded. “Pauline warned Felix that her brother was dangerous. She didn’t want him around her kid.”

“She must have been scared of him for a reason. Maybe he’s violent. Maybe the brother is the reason Pauline moved away and changed her name. She cut all ties at a very young age. She must have been terrified of him.”

Faith listed it out. “Jake Berman was at the scene of the crime. He’s disappeared. He wasn’t very cooperative as a witness. He hasn’t left a paper trail except for the one arrest for indecent exposure.”

“If Berman is an alias Pauline’s brother is using, then it’s pretty established. He was arrested and went through the system with the name intact.”

“If he changed it twenty years ago when Pauline ran away from home, that’s a lifetime as far as public records are concerned. They were still playing catch-up, trying to enter info and old cases into computers. A lot of those files never made the transition, especially in small towns. Look at how hard it’s been for Leo to track down Pauline’s parents, and they filed a missing persons report.”

“How old is Berman?”

Faith scrolled back to the front of the report. “Thirty-seven.”

Will stopped. “Pauline is thirty-seven. Could they be twins?”

Faith rifled around in her purse and found the black-and-white copy of Pauline McGhee’s driver’s license. She tried to recall Jake Berman’s face, but then remembered she was holding his file in her other hand. The BlackBerry was still loading. She held it up above her head, hoping the signal would get stronger.

“Let’s go back to the front of the house,” Will suggested. They went around the other side, Will checking the windows, making sure nothing looked suspicious. By the time they reached the front porch, the file had finally downloaded.

Jake Berman had a full beard in his arrest photo — the sort of unkempt kind that suburban dads sported when they were trying to look subversive. Faith showed Will the picture. “He was clean-shaven when I talked to him,” she said.

“Felix said the man who took his mother had a mustache.”

“He couldn’t have grown one that quickly.”

“We can get a sketch of what Jake would look like without facial hair, with a mustache, whatever.”

“It’s Amanda’s call whether or not we put that out on the wire.” Releasing a sketch could make Jake Berman panic and go even deeper into hiding. If he was their bad guy, it could also serve to tip him off He might decide to kill any witnesses and leave the state — or worse, the country. Hartsfield International Airport offered over twenty-five hundred flights in and out of the city every day.

Will said, “He’s got dark hair and dark eyes like Pauline.”

“So do you.”

Will shrugged, admitting, “He doesn’t look like her twin. Maybe her brother.”

Faith was being stupid again. She checked the birthdays. “Berman had a birthday after he was arrested. He was born eighteen months before Pauline. Irish twins.”

“Was he wearing a suit when he was arrested?”

She scrolled through the file. “Jeans and a sweater. Same as when I talked to him at Grady.”

“Does the report list his occupation?”

Faith checked. “Unemployed.” She read the other details, shaking her head. “This is such a sloppy report. I can’t believe a lieutenant passed this on.”

“I’ve done those stings before. You get ten, maybe fifteen guys a day. Most of them plead it down or just pay the fine and hope it goes away. You’re not going to be going to court, because the last thing they want to do is face their accuser.”

“What’s the ‘typical hand gesture’ they use to ask for sex?” Faith asked, curious.

Will did something absolutely obscene with his fingers, and she wished she hadn’t asked.

He insisted, “There has to be a reason Jake Berman is hiding.”

“What are our options? He’s either a deadbeat, he’s Pauline’s brother or he’s our bad guy. Or all three.”

“Or none,” Will pointed out. “Either way, we’ve got to talk to him.”

“Amanda’s got the whole team looking for him. They’re doing all the derivations on his name they can think of — Jake Seward, Jack Seward. They’re trying McGhee, Jackson, Jakeson. The computer will run the permutations.”

“What’s his middle name?”

“Henry. So, we’ve got Hank, Harry, Hoss…”

“How can he have an arrest record and we still can’t find him?”

“He’s not using credit cards. He doesn’t have a cell phone bill or a mortgage. None of his last known addresses have given up anything useful. We don’t know who his employer is or where he’s worked in the past.”

“Maybe it’s all in his wife’s name — the name we don’t have.”

“If my husband got caught getting his willy winked at the mall while I was standing outside with our kids…” Faith didn’t bother to finish the sentence. “It would help if the lawyer who handled his public indecency case wasn’t a total prick.” The man was refusing to divulge any of his client’s information and insisted he had no way to get in touch with Jake Berman. Amanda was filing warrants to look into the files, but warrants like that took time — something they were running out of.

A blue Ford Escape pulled up in front of the house. The man who got out of the car looked like the textbook example of anxiety, from his wrinkled brow to the way he was wringing his hands in front of his slightly paunched belly. He was average looking, balding, with stooped shoulders. Faith would have pegged his occupation as one that required him to sit in front of a computer for more than eight hours a day.

“Are you the police officers I spoke with?” the man asked brusquely. Then, perhaps realizing how abrupt he had been, he tried again. “I’m sorry, I’m Michael Tanner, Olivia’s brother. Are you the police?”

“Yes, sir.” Faith pulled out her ID. She introduced herself and Will. “Do you have a key to your sister’s house?”

Michael seemed worried and embarrassed at the same time, as if this could all just be a misunderstanding. “I’m not sure we should be doing this. Olivia likes her personal space.”

Faith caught Will’s eye. Another woman who was good at putting up boundaries.

Will offered, “We can call a locksmith if we need to. It’s important we see inside the house in case anything happened. Olivia might’ve fallen, or—”

“I’ve got a key.” Michael fished into his pocket and pulled out a single key on a springy band. “She mailed it to me three months ago. I don’t know why. She just wanted me to have it. I guess because she knew I wouldn’t use it. Maybe I
shouldn’t
use it.”

Will said, “You wouldn’t have flown all the way from Houston unless you thought that something was wrong.”

Michael’s face went white, and Faith caught a glimpse of what the last few hours of his life must have been like — driving to the airport, getting on the plane, renting a car, all the while thinking that he was being foolish, that his sister was fine. All the while knowing in the back of his brain that the exact opposite was probably true.

Michael handed Will the key. “The policeman I spoke with yesterday said he sent a patrolman to knock on the door.” He paused, as if he needed them to confirm this had happened. “I was worried they weren’t taking me seriously. I know Olivia is a grown woman, but she’s a creature of habit. She doesn’t depart from her routine.”

Will unlocked the door and went inside the house. Faith kept the brother on the porch. She asked him, “What’s her routine?”

He closed his eyes for a moment as if to collect his thoughts. “She works at the private bank in Buckhead, has for almost twenty years. She goes in six days a week — every day but Monday, when she does her shopping and other chores: cleaners, library, grocery store. She’s in the bank by eight, out by eight most nights unless there’s some kind of event. Her job is community relations. If there’s a party or a fundraiser or something the bank is sponsoring, she has to be there. Otherwise, she’s always at home.”

“Did the bank call you?”

He put his hand to his throat, rubbing a bright red scar. Faith guessed he’d had a tracheotomy or some type of throat surgery.

He said, “The bank didn’t have my phone number. I called them when I didn’t hear from Olivia yesterday morning. I called them when I landed. They have no idea where she is. She’s never missed work before.”

“Do you have a recent picture of your sister?”

“No.” He seemed to realize why she wanted the photograph. “I’m sorry. Olivia hated to be photographed. Always.”

“That’s okay,” Faith assured him. “We’ll pull it from her driver’s license if we need to.”

Will came down the stairs. He shook his head, and Faith led the man into the house. She tried to make small talk, telling Michael, “This is a beautiful home.”

“I’ve never seen it before,” he confessed. He was looking around like Faith, probably thinking the same thing she was: The place was like a museum.

The front hall went all the way back to the kitchen, which gleamed with white marble countertops and white cabinets. The stairs were carpeted in a white runner, and the living room was equally Spartan; everything from the walls to the furniture to the rug on the floor was a pristine white. Even the art on the wall consisted of white canvases in white frames.

Michael shivered. “It’s so cold in here.”

Faith knew he didn’t mean the temperature.

She led both men into the living room. There was a couch and two chairs, but she didn’t know whether to sit or stand. Finally, she sat on the couch, the cushion so hard that she barely made a dent. Will took the chair beside her and Michael sat at the other end of the couch.

She said, “Let’s take it from the beginning, Mr. Tanner.”

“Doctor,” he said, then frowned. “Sorry. It doesn’t matter. Please call me Michael.”

“All right, Michael.” Faith kept her voice calm, soothing, sensing he was close to panic. She started with an easy question. “You’re a doctor?”

“A radiologist.”

“You work at a hospital?”

“The Methodist Breast Center.” He blinked his eyes, and she realized he was trying not to cry.

Faith got to the point. “What made you call the police yesterday?”

“Olivia calls me every day now. She didn’t do that before. We weren’t close for many years, then she went off to college and we drifted even farther apart.” He gave them a weak smile. “I got cancer two years ago. Thyroid.” He touched his hand to the scar on his neck again. “I just felt an emptiness?” He said this as a question, and Faith nodded as if she understood. “I wanted to be with my family. I wanted to have Olivia back in my life. I knew it would be on her terms, but I was willing to make that sacrifice.”

“What terms did she impose?”

“I could never call her. She always was the one to call me.”

Faith wasn’t sure what to say to that. Will asked, “Was there a particular pattern to the calls?”

Michael started nodding his head, like he was glad someone finally understood why he was so worried. “Yes. She’s called me every single day for the last eighteen months. Sometimes she doesn’t say much, but she always calls at the same time every morning no matter what.”

Will asked, “Why doesn’t she say much?”

Michael looked down at his hands. “It’s hard for her. She went through some things when we were growing up. She’s not someone who thinks of the word ‘family’ and smiles.” He rubbed his scar again, and Faith felt a profound sadness coming off him. “She doesn’t smile much about anything, actually.”

Will glanced at Faith to confirm it was okay for him to take over. She gave him a slight nod. Obviously, Michael Tanner was more comfortable talking to Will. Her job now was to just blend in with the background.

Will asked, “Your sister wasn’t a happy person?”

Michael slowly shook his head, his sadness filling the room.

Will was silent for a moment, giving the man some space. “Who abused her?”

Faith was shocked by the question, but the tears that fell from Michael’s eyes told her that Will was spot-on. “Our father. Quite the cliché these days.”

“When?”

“Our mother died when Olivia was eight. I guess it started shortly after that. It went on for a few months, until Olivia ended up at the doctor. She was damaged. The doctor reported it, but my father just…” Tears came in earnest now. “My father said she had hurt herself on purpose. That she had put something down… there… to injure herself. To draw attention to herself because she missed our mother.” He angrily wiped his tears away. “My father was a judge. He knew everyone on the police force, and they thought they knew him. He said that Olivia was lying, so everyone assumed she was a liar — especially me. For years, I just didn’t believe her.”

“What changed your mind?”

He gave a humorless laugh. “Logic. It didn’t make sense that she would… that she would be the way she is unless something horrible had happened.”

Will kept staring straight into the man’s eyes. “Did your father ever hurt you?”

“No.” He had answered too quickly. “Not anything sexual, I mean. He punished me sometimes. Took out the belt. He could be a brutal man, but I thought that’s what fathers did. It was normal. The best way to avoid a beating was to be a good son, so I was a good son.”

Again Will took his time getting to the next question. “How did Olivia punish herself for what happened?”

Michael struggled with his emotions, trying to contain them but failing miserably. He finally pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes, sobbing. Will just sat there, motionless. Faith followed his lead. She knew instinctively that the worst thing she could do right now was comfort Michael Tanner.