Deceived Page 18

  On the surface, the conclusion appeared to be a no-brainer on a number of fronts. Drowning was the fourth leading cause of accidental death in the U.S. According to Kate’s statement—the only one in the file other than a few sentences from the boat rental clerk—John Marshall had been a respected doctor, a pillar of his community, a churchgoer, a loving father and husband. He’d had no enemies. He’d been found with his wallet intact, ruling out robbery. There was no reason to suspect foul play.

  But in hindsight, a lot of things didn’t add up.

  Why had Kate’s husband taken off his life jacket—and his son’s?

  Why was there a boy in St. Louis who matched the age-progression photo of Kevin—and who used a term unique to Kate’s son?

  Why did Greg Sanders seem nervous in the mall video?

  What had prompted Sanders to move from Ohio to the backwoods of Montana three years ago?

  If the boy who resembled Kevin really was the man’s son, why did he appear to be younger than he should be, given the timing of Sanders’s wife’s death?

  This thing was getting more and more complicated.

  Connor rose, stretching. Barely past nine, and he’d already been up for three hours. Too bad his hour-long jog and half hour of weights hadn’t burned off more of the restless energy generated by his visit with Kate last night and his fretful slumber. What little he’d managed to vanquish through exercise had returned in full as he reviewed the file.

  He needed to talk through the case. Do some brainstorming. Get a fresh perspective.

  And he knew just the person to call.

  As he headed for the kitchen to scrounge up a frozen breakfast sandwich, he pulled his phone off his belt and tapped in a single speed dial digit. Two rings in, Dev answered.

  Connor dispensed with a greeting. “You busy?”

  “No. It’s Laura’s Saturday to work at the library. What’s going on?”

  “You up for some one-on-one?”

  “Hmm. Let me guess. You’re working on the little boy case and want to bounce some stuff off me. Pardon the pun.”

  “Good deduction.”

  “It’s elementary, my dear Sullivan. You only call me on Saturdays if a case is driving you nuts.”

  “That’s because I respect your personal time.”

  “Except when you have a hot case. But I could use the exercise. The usual place?”

  “Yeah.” As far as he could remember from the schedule he’d scanned last week after coaching the youth basketball team, the church gym should be wide open. “Forty-five minutes?”

  “I’ll be there. Prepare to be trounced.”

  As the line went dead, Connor slid the phone back onto his belt. He didn’t care how many jump shots Dev sank as long as he also jump-started some new ideas on the case.

  Diane strolled through Macy’s, fingering the new fall fashions that had arrived since her last visit two days ago. Like she needed more clothes. She had two closetfuls already, thanks to the buying binge she’d gone on after she and Rich split. Thankfully, those urges had waned once her life became more normal, and they’d disappeared altogether after she met Greg.

  But she’d been here three times during the past week, even though her support group had taught her shopping sprees were a futile coping mechanism. While a dress or a new pair of shoes might give her spirits and her ego a temporary lift, the boost never lasted.

  Besides, who was she trying to kid? She might have walked out of Greg’s house with her head held high, might have played it cool and told him she’d think about whether she’d join them for dinner if he called, but she wouldn’t hesitate to say yes if he did issue an invitation—despite the fact it would be a lot smarter to decline.

  Grabbing a silk blouse off the rack, she stalked toward the dressing room. Why was she letting herself be manipulated by another man? She’d been down that road, and the scenery wasn’t pretty. Greg might not be hitting her, but he was still trying to control her life, calling the shots, deciding when—and if—he’d communicate with her. If he had some kind of problem that didn’t relate to her, as he’d implied, why couldn’t he just be honest and tell her about it instead of jerking her around?

  She marched into the dressing room and slammed the hanger onto a hook. She ought to swear off of men. For now, at least. Focus on getting a job, getting her life back under control, and learning how to feel positive about herself so she’d be less susceptible to others’ opinions. That’s the message the leader of her support group always hammered home, and she was right. If Greg wanted to cool things for a while, maybe that was a blessing in disguise. She could use the break to get her act together while he worked on his own issues.

  As she started to unbutton her blouse, the ringtone from inside her purse announced an incoming call.

  Greg?

  Her heart skipped a beat, and she grabbed her shoulder bag, fumbling the clasp. Once she had the phone in hand, a quick glance at the display confirmed it was him.

  Now what?

  As the phone rang again, she jabbed the talk button.

  “Hi. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  Vulnerable was a better word. Especially since his voice was warmer than it had been in days. She sank onto the chair in the small dressing room.

  Be strong. Be cool. Be careful.

  “No. What’s up?” At least she didn’t sound overeager.

  “Todd made up his mind about his birthday plans. He talked to the kid next door, and they want to go to Chuck E. Cheese’s later this afternoon. I know that’s not the most appealing place for adults, but we’d both like it if you’d join us.”

  Diane leaned her head back against the wall, trying to tune out the mother-daughter skirt-length argument in the next dressing room. She ought to say no, just to show him she wasn’t going to be at his beck and call or sit around waiting while he decided whether to summon her or not.

  But she was tired of playing games. And she wanted to go. Even a noisy place that catered to kids was preferable to the quiet, lonely house that was far too big for one person.

  As the silence lengthened, a weary sigh came over the line. “Look, Diane, I’m sorry things have been strained between us lately, but I’ve got some issues with Todd. I think he and I need more time alone together until we get past this rough patch. The move was hard for him, and adjusting to daycare has been a challenge after being with me 24/7 for years. Plus, I think he’s worrying about starting first grade and meeting a bunch of new kids. I know we’ll get back in the groove soon. I’m just asking for a little space for a while, not trying to break things off. That’s the last thing I want. If it was up to me, I’d be seeing you every day.”

  He sounded sincere. And how could she object to a father putting his son above his own needs and wants?

  If Todd was having adjustment issues, however, she hadn’t seen much evidence of them aside from that one nightmare. The incident at the lake was a different matter altogether and not related to the nightmares as far as she could tell. Still, Greg would be a lot more tuned in to his son’s problems. See things she might never notice.

  The important thing was he’d talked to her. Tried to explain his actions. That counted for a lot.

  The tension in her shoulders ebbed. “I’ll meet you there.” That would give her some control over their get-together and allow her to leave when she chose. “What time?”

  “Four o’clock?”

  “Fine.”

  “Todd will be glad to see you—assuming I can drag him away from the erector set. That was an inspired gift. One we both appreciate.”

  Once more, the warmth in his tone sent a thrill through her, and her own voice thawed a few degrees. “It was my pleasure. I’ll see you there.”

  As she dropped the phone back into her purse and retrieved the blouse, preparing to return it to the rack without trying it on, the conversation from next door wafted her way again.

  “Wearing a skirt that short sends the wrong message.”

&n
bsp; Dramatic sigh. “It’s a fashion statement, Mom. Nothing more. All my friends are wearing skirts like this.”

  “Sorry. Your father would have a fit. I’m not dealing with that.”

  A hanger banged against the wall. “I hate how you let him run your life! He’s such a control freak!”

  The door in the adjacent dressing room slammed, rattling the walls, and the argument grew fainter as the occupants returned to the sales floor.

  But the words control freak lingered in the air.

  She knew all about those. Rich had run her life.

  Was Greg made from the same mold?

  Until a couple weeks ago, she’d have said no. But he’d been acting so peculiar lately. What if she was making a mistake? What if Greg turned out to be as bad as her ex, in a different way?

  A chill rippled through her. No way was she walking back into a situation like that.

  But she was committed for tonight, and she wasn’t going to disappoint Todd on his birthday. If she got any negative vibes at all during their outing, though, she was leaving—for good. She had enough problems to deal with in her own life without trying to figure out what made a certain construction worker tick.

  Fingering the blouse, she returned the hanger to the hook and set her purse back on the chair.

  Might as well try it on as long as she was here.

  14

  Dev slam-dunked the ball, grabbed it after it bounced, and stuck it under his arm. “A little off our game today, aren’t we? That’s number three for me—but who’s counting?”

  “I have another game on my mind.” Connor tipped his head and wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his T-shirt.

  “No kidding.” Dev propped a fist on his hip. “Think you can focus on this one for ten more minutes? I’m digesting the download you gave me when we got here, but since I came all this way, I’d like to get in a decent workout before we dive into business.”

  “Your place is only two miles from here.”

  “And two miles back.” He tossed the ball over. “I’ll let you lead off. Maybe you can redeem yourself.”

  Connor balanced the ball in his hands. Dev was right. They’d only been at this fifteen minutes, and his partner did some of his best thinking while he was in action, whether on the job or off.

  So he’d give him action.

  Crouching, he began to dribble the ball, keeping it low to the floor, left arm extended to ward off attack.

  It didn’t take Dev long to make his move. He sprang forward and swiped at the ball—just as Connor expected. Holding the ball at his hip, he did a reverse pivot, then continued dribbling down the court with the opposite hand, neatly sinking a jump shot.

  Dev stopped and folded his arms. “Getting serious, I see.”

  “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  “Yeah. Now that I know your head’s in the game, we’re gonna have some fun.”

  Connor bounced the ball. “Your competitive streak is showing.”

  “I like to win.”

  “So do I.”

  For the next fifteen minutes, Connor played hard as they pounded up and down the court. He faked a crossover when Dev came at him, disconcerting him long enough to go hard around his right side and score another jump shot. His jab step two minutes later threw Dev off balance, allowing him to drive to the hoop and do a layup.

  Although Dev paced him step for step and did take the ball a couple of times, he only managed an air shot. Connor took possession of the ball on the rebound and landed a slam dunk.

  Finally, breathing hard, Connor leaned over and rested his palms on his knees. “Had enough?”

  Dev tossed him the ball, and Connor caught it with one hand as the other man wiped his face with the bottom of his T-shirt. “No. You’re one up. But I’m ready for a time-out. Your coaching gig here has improved your game.”

  “I don’t know about that, but it has reminded me of the importance of strategy. And speaking of strategy . . .”

  “Yeah, yeah. We can talk about the case now, but first I need some water.”

  Ball under his arm, Connor led the way to the bleachers, pulled two large bottles out of his gym bag, and tossed one to Dev.

  His partner caught it, twisted off the top, and chugged the whole thing.

  Halfway through his own bottle, Connor recapped it and sat on the aluminum bench.

  Dev joined him. “Here’s my take. Based on what you told me earlier about the police report, plus all the recent developments, I think the cops came to too many conclusions too fast. They went with the theory that since it looked like a rose and smelled like a rose, it must be a rose.”

  “Like the burger Nikki brought me yesterday.”

  “Good analogy. I hope you made up for it at dinner.”

  “Yeah.” But his impromptu meal with Kate wasn’t on the agenda for today’s discussion. “In light of everything we’ve learned, I’m liking the head injury—and the assumption Kate’s husband broke his promise about wearing life jackets—less and less. It all strikes me as too convenient.”

  Dev fished another bottle of water from the gym bag. “So what’s your theory?”

  “I think the accidental death ruling is off base. With every piece of new information that turns up, this thing smells more like rotten garbage than a rose.”

  “If it wasn’t an accident, there’s only one other explanation.” Dev twisted the cap off the bottle. “And to make that stick, you’d have to have a motive. Your client’s husband sounds like a Boy Scout. Why would anyone target him? And if someone did have him in their sights, why kill—or take—his son?”

  Excellent questions.

  Expelling a breath, Connor stood and began to pace. “Let’s think outside the box for a minute. The police assumed Kate’s husband overturned the boat when he fell, and that her son’s death was a tragic by-product. But suppose it wasn’t an accident. Suppose someone did have a reason to want her husband dead. Why not find a way to kill him without involving an innocent child?” Connor stopped. Frowned. “Unless . . .”

  “Unless the child was the impetus for the whole thing.”

  He swung toward his colleague. It was uncanny how their trains of thought often led them to the same destination. “Everything would fit.”

  “But if your hypothetical killer was after the boy, there are a lot easier—and less risky—ways to kidnap a kid. And why your client’s son in particular?”

  Shoving his fingers through his hair, Connor shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Dev took a swig of water. “Before you go too far down that road, it might be helpful to try and round up a picture of Sanders’s son. If you can find one, and it’s a close match to the kid in the mall, maybe it’s a look-alike situation with your client’s boy after all.”

  “Too many other things still don’t fit, though.” Connor picked up his water again and twisted off the cap. “I agree we need to find out more about Sanders’s son. But let’s say we locate a photo—a serious challenge, since Sanders isn’t a social media kind of guy. I’ve already reviewed all the usual sites. And let’s say the photo’s obviously not a match. That would give our suspicions about the identity of the boy at the mall more credence, but it would also raise other questions.”

  “Like where’s the real son?”

  “Yeah. For starters.”

  Dev leaned over to tighten a loose shoelace. “If I were you, I’d dig deeper on the doctor too. A loving wife’s opinion about her husband’s sterling qualities could be more than a little biased. He might have had enemies he never mentioned to her.”

  “Or didn’t know about.”

  “That too. But all that is a moot point if the boy at the mall ends up being Sanders’s son. Which would suggest that getting a photo of the boy is a top priority. If it doesn’t match the kid from the mall, you can follow up on your theory that someone took out the doctor. Dig deeper into his background. Do the same with Sanders. Both their kids too. If there’s a link between all of them
, it’s there, waiting for us to find it. It might require some extra hours, but hey—that’s why they pay us the big bucks.” Grinning, Dev stood. “Can I offer you any other nuggets of wisdom today, my son?”

  Connor weighed the half-empty bottle of water in his hand. Their conversation hadn’t been long, but it had helped him sort through the muddle of information and nail down some clear next steps. He’d have gotten there eventually on his own, but this was one of the beauties of having smart partners. They helped each other cut through the clutter and formulate the most efficient strategy.

  “You’ve done more than enough for one day. I owe you.”

  “You can pay off the debt right now.” Dev retrieved the ball from the bleachers. “Give me a chance to even up the score.”

  “You got it.” Connor finished off his water, tossed the empty bottle in his gym bag, and rejoined Dev on the court. He’d pound the boards for another fifteen minutes.

  But as soon as they finished, he was heading home to do some serious digging for a photo of David Sanders.

  “Hey, Dad, can Kyle and me have some more tokens for the arcade?”

  As Todd and the kid from next door trotted up to the table he’d claimed in Chuck E. Cheese’s eating area, Greg dug into the stash of brass tokens he’d purchased. “Make them last awhile this time. I don’t have an unlimited supply.”

  “When is Diane coming?”

  “Soon.” He doled out tokens to each kid. “After you use ten more, come back. We’ll eat as soon as she gets here.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  The kids zoomed off again.

  Greg jiggled his foot and looked toward the entrance of the entertainment facility, trying to tune out the raucous noise from the animatronic show in the background and the excited, high-pitched voices of the hundreds of frenzied kids darting about. At least it sounded like hundreds. And the noise level wasn’t helping the dull pounding that had begun in his temples during Diane’s visit this morning and intensified as the hours passed.