Last Night, page 20
“It’s going to be a daunting job,” Donna said, “inventorying the contents. Jeanne wants you to know we will help as much as you’d like us to.”
“We can help, too,” Kate said to Hadley. “Our gallery uses a very reputable and discreet photographer and assistant. We have them sign a nondisclosure agreement.”
“It goes without saying that our law firm is discreet,” Donna said sharply.
“I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t,” Kate said.
Bickering done, everyone was silent for a while, walking around as if it really were a gallery and taking in Maddie’s work. Hadley stopped in front of a painting that took her breath away. She had never seen it before. Oil on linen, fifty by fifty inches—it was one of Maddie’s largest. It still smelled of linseed oil and was obviously a new piece.
Kate stood beside her, and Hadley heard her take a deep breath.
It was a self-portrait of a clearly pregnant Maddie lying on her side, sleeping in the snow. Her hands were clasped, holding a bouquet of red roses. Stars blazed in the midnight-blue sky overhead. In the distance, the constellation Orion rose out of the ocean, riding on the back of a humpback whale. A trickle of red ran from the roses, as if they were dissolving into the snow, or as if they were turning to blood. Sitting on Maddie’s shoulder was a tiny girl with cascades of blonde curls. She was holding a star.
“It shows what happened to her,” Hadley said. “As if she came back from the dead and painted it.”
“Or as if she dreamed it was going to happen,” Kate said.
“But she couldn’t have, right?” Hadley asked.
“It’s almost as if she did this painting, then went out into the blizzard to reenact it,” Kate said, leaning closer to examine the brushstrokes.
“Reenact it with the shooter? She knew she was going to be killed?” Hadley asked.
“No,” Kate said. “Of course not. But what if she was tricked into it? A sort of performance art?”
Hadley thought about that. Performance art was magical, ephemeral, fleeting. The tableau that was created would last only for the duration of the act, and then it would dissolve into memory. Unless it had been filmed, and that made her heart race. Could someone have documented the murder on video?
“It makes a kind of sense,” Kate said. “Conor and I have been wondering what could have driven her out into the storm, especially with CeCe. Could someone have convinced her it was a way to celebrate this incredible painting? Even take it to another level? Because, Hadley, this is her masterpiece. It is beyond anything else she has ever done.”
“It is,” Hadley said. She pointed to the words Last Night in tiny white script at the bottom of the painting, just beneath Maddie’s signature.
“The title?” Kate asked.
Hadley nodded.
Donna walked over to gaze at the painting, and Hadley drifted away. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts about Maddie, and whatever had driven her to paint this work, and whoever had lured her to her death. Hadley wondered if Kate was right—that she had gone into the storm to create performance art based on the painting—or if Maddie had met the person for an entirely different reason.
Maddie’s rolltop desk was piled high with papers, correspondence, and the small black Moleskine notebooks she favored. Hadley knew she used them as a combination calendar, diary, and phone book. She liked the small size, the elastic closure, and the fine silk ribbon to hold the writer’s place. She always kept a pen tucked inside.
Hadley reached for the top notebook on the pile. The pen and the silk ribbon held the place of the last notes Maddie had made. She felt qualms about reading what her sister had written—Maddie had been fierce about privacy—but what did it matter now? She opened to the last page that had been written on.
But instead of writing, there was a receipt stapled to the paper:
$1,000,000 to Genevieve Dickinson, plus past royalties
Public apology
Renunciation of credit—the idea was Genevieve’s
On that printed page was a pencil sketch of the original image, the one that had made Maddie’s name and fortune: the swan and the whale. The sketch was terrible—not just in technique but in atmosphere, which was pure evil. The whale looked shrunken, almost as if decomposing. And the swan was a stick figure, like a skeleton. It was as though Maddie had done it while drunk, or dying, and gripped by shame.
Hadley shoved the notebook into her pocket. When she turned to look at Kate and Donna, still regarding Last Night, she saw Donna catch a glimpse out of the corner of her eye. Hadley was shaking as she left the storage unit and walked outside to feel snow falling on her face.
35
Conor knew that Elise Braga had been questioned by the police, but they hadn’t held her. So when he and Tom showed up at the Binnacle to see what they could learn from the family, she was there, suiting up for the lunch shift.
“Hey, Elise,” Tom said as they walked into the dining room. “Got a table for two?”
“Sure, Commander,” she said, leading them to a good spot by the window.
“This is my brother, Conor,” Tom said.
“Nice to meet you,” Elise said.
“Hello,” Conor said.
He was going to let Tom take the lead on this. Tom knew Elise and the Braga family. They mostly trusted and liked him because he tended to be understanding about small maritime infractions that could cost their fishing captains big fines if the Coast Guard officer wanted to be a hard-ass.
“Hey, it’s almost Christmas,” Elise said. “Our family would like to buy you a drink. What’ll you have?”
“A Coke,” Tom said.
“Same for me,” Conor said.
“Oh, you’re no fun,” Elise said.
“It’s barely noon,” Tom said.
“Well, we’ll get you next time you’re here for dinner. Meanwhile, your Cokes are on us.”
She handed them menus and headed across the room. An older man wearing a navy-blue Binnacle polo shirt stood behind the bar and looked toward Conor and Tom when Elise spoke to him.
“Is that her uncle?” Conor asked. “The owner?”
Tom glanced over. “Yes, Joachim Braga. Big Jack, he’s called. Patriarch of the family.”
Instead of Elise delivering the Cokes, Big Jack brought them over to the table.
“Merry Christmas, gentlemen,” Jack said. “These are on the house. In fact, your lunches are.”
“No, Jack,” Tom said. “But thanks.”
“Stop! You’re going to have the lobster pie. You’ll love it, Tom. Big hunks of claw and tail meat, enough heavy cream to stop your heart, my wife’s pastry—all of it flambéed tableside with cognac.”
“How about two fish-and-chips platters but we pay for them?” Conor asked.
“Tom, Tom, Tom,” Jack said, his wide smile revealing an upper-right gold molar. “You gotta educate your brother on how we do things around here. We’re family, Conor! Not blood, like you and Tom, but saltwater families. We’re related through the sea.”
“He’s right about that,” Tom said.
“Damn straight. My cousins and best friends all fish for lobsters, we cook ’em, and Tom saves our lives when something goes wrong out there in the ocean. Like you did for Zane—not a cousin but a lifelong friend, just as close as family.” Jack made the sign of the cross, blessed himself. “He almost didn’t make it.”
“He was lucky,” Tom said.
“Damned idiot going out in a blizzard. Copy that, Commander?” Jack asked.
“Copy that,” Tom said.
“He’ll probably get a nice fine for fuel leakage, right?”
“That’s up to the DEM,” Tom said.
“Well, hope he can pay it and get out there lobstering again. He keeps our lobster tanks full. I gotta say, screw the Department of Environmental Management. People have to make a living. People love to eat here; we don’t want to deprive them.”
“It’s a popular place,” Tom said. “That’s for sure.”
“We’ve been at it a long time,” Jack said. “It didn’t happen overnight. We pull together.”
“I can imagine,” Conor said. “It must be hard on all of you when one of you has trouble.”
“We’ve had plenty of trouble, but we’re from a long line of survivors,” Jack said. “Dating back to the Portuguese explorers. There’s a monument to us at Breton Point in Newport, right across Narragansett Bay. You’ll see our ancestors there—tell their ghosts I say hi.”
“The police are probably still holding Zane,” Conor said. “And they’re looking for his son, Ronnie. Do you know where he is?”
Jack shook his head. “That kid takes after his mother,” he said. “Other side of the family. You should ask them.”
“It was nice to meet your niece Elise,” Conor said.
“She’s a sweetheart,” Jack said.
“She must be upset about her boyfriend,” Conor said.
“Nothing to be upset about,” Jack said. “Grub is a great guy. He’ll help the police in any way he can.”
“Sounds as if he might be harboring Ronnie,” Conor said.
“No truth to that,” Jack said. “He’d never help a fugitive. Our family supports the police. We abide by the law. Right, Tom?”
“We have a missing child, Jack,” Tom said. “Her name is CeCe. You have daughters and nieces, and I know you can imagine what the family is feeling. How worried they are for her. Anything you can tell us that would help . . .”
“Of course, Tom,” Jack said. “Now, let me think. I don’t know Ronnie at all, but have you checked with his high school buddies?”
Conor looked across the room. He saw Elise standing by the bar talking to two women, one of whom he recognized as Isabel, from the front desk at the Ocean House. She was wearing jeans and a sweater instead of the suit she wore at work. When she saw him, she waved, and he walked over.
“Hi, Isabel,” he said.
“Hi, Mr. Reid,” she said. “This is my coworker Patricia. We always come here for lunch on our days off. They are so good to us.” She leaned into Elise and gave her a hug.
“We give discounts to our friends in the service industry,” Elise said. “We love our locals.”
“We’re grateful,” Isabel said. She looked around. “Is Ms. Woodward here?”
“No, she’s out with Hadley.”
Elise had a worried look on her face. She made eye contact with Conor, and he felt she wanted to speak with him privately.
“Don’t let me keep you from your lunch,” Conor said to Isabel and Patricia. “Enjoy it.”
“You, too,” Isabel said, and they went to find seats at the bar.
Elise beckoned him, and he followed her outside and around the corner of the restaurant.
“What is it, Elise?” he asked.
“I’m just so worried,” she said.
“About Grub?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Do you know where he is?” Conor asked.
“They’re going to arrest him, aren’t they?” she asked.
“At this point, they just want to ask him about Ronnie and CeCe.”
“It’s a nightmare,” Elise said. “The news says she’s only six.”
“That’s right.”
“And now she has no mother.”
Conor wanted to ask what she knew about Maddie’s murder, but he forced himself to keep those questions inside till he heard what she had to say about Grub and where he might be.
“Don’t blame Grub for everything,” she said.
“But he ran away when he knew the police wanted to talk to him,” Conor said.
“He’s protecting someone. The one who did it.”
“Ronnie?” Conor asked.
“Yes. His nephew. His godson,” Elise said.
“Does Ronnie have CeCe?” Conor asked.
“Ronnie used to be such a good kid,” she said, as if she hadn’t heard the question. “So sweet and helpful. Before he started lobstering with his dad, he worked here at the restaurant during summer vacation. Shucked littlenecks like a champ, picked lobster, bused tables. But they’ve ruined him.” She sounded angry. “Grub said Zane wanted to make a man out of him!”
“Did they make Ronnie kill Maddie?” Conor asked. “Why did they want her dead?”
Elise’s shoulders went up to her ears. “I don’t know! Don’t ask me!”
Conor knew she was lying, but he didn’t want to accuse or push her. “Tell me where to find him so we can save CeCe and help him,” he said.
“I shouldn’t be talking to you at all,” Elise said. “My family will kill me. I mean, not really. I shouldn’t even joke about killing, but oh my God.”
“Think of CeCe,” Conor said.
Elise pressed her hands against her eyes, as if by not seeing him she could avoid facing what was right in front of her.
“Elise, Tom told me you’ve struggled with addiction. You’re clean now, right?” Conor asked.
She nodded, slowly taking her hands down from her face.
“That’s huge,” Conor said. “I’m a cop in Connecticut, and I see addicts and what they go through. How the disease turns them into people they never wanted to be. I know how hard it is to get straight. It takes a ton of hard work, and from what they tell me, one of the biggest parts of recovery is getting honest.”
“‘Rigorous honesty,’” Elise said. “That’s what we learned in rehab.”
Conor listened. He didn’t want to push her, possibly cause her to stop talking. But he needed to know where Grub went, where CeCe might be.
“We did the steps of AA. Step five: ‘Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.’”
To Conor, it sounded like a confession. He realized she was grappling with whatever she was about to say.
“The exact nature of my wrongs,” Elise said, “is that I’ve hidden things from myself.”
“Like what?”
“Can you love someone even though you know they’re bad?”
Conor didn’t reply, just waited.
“I would have said there is no way he would hurt a little girl. He didn’t even know that she’d be there. It was just supposed to be the mother.”
“You’re talking about Ronnie?” Conor asked.
“No,” she said. “Grub.”
“How would he hurt her? You mean more than just taking her?”
“Maybe,” she said. “He’s been hanging out with someone—I can’t stand this guy. They call him Coach. It’s short for Coachella, where he’s from. Coachella Valley, in California. You know, where the music festival is? He moved here a few months ago, and he talks about finding girls, taking them back down there.”
“You mean children?” Conor asked.
“No,” Elise said. “Of course not. Grub said girls who like to party.”
“Okay,” Conor said, unsure of whether she really didn’t know or whether she was covering for Grub.
“Where is Grub, Elise? And where is Ronnie? Tell me what you know, right now,” Conor said.
“Grub is at the Magellan Club,” she said. “It’s on Route 1, heading west. Just, please, don’t tell my uncle. Otherwise, he’ll call Grub and warn him.”
“Okay,” Conor said. “But you won’t?”
“No. I want CeCe to get rescued,” she said. “That’s all that matters now. Bad things could happen to her. And it would be Coach’s fault, not Grub’s.”
“Thanks, Elise,” Conor said, not wanting to alienate her by saying the obvious: they already have.
Conor hurried back to the table. Jack was sitting with Tom, and the fish and chips had just been delivered. Conor knew he had to get Tom out of there right away without tipping Jack off. He said he wanted to bring his food home to Kate while it was hot and asked if it could be packed up.
“What’s your hurry? Eat here. The batter will get soggy,” Jack said.
“It’ll be fine. I’ll drive fast,” Tom said, catching Conor’s eye and knowing something was up.
“Great to meet you, Conor,” Jack said, slapping Conor on the back. “Bring your girlfriend next time, okay? Tom, your wife, too. We throw a hell of a New Year’s Eve party. And we’re going to treat you to lobster pie, no arguments!”
“Sounds good,” Tom said. “Thanks, Jack.”
Conor and Tom went back to the truck. Conor had already opened his phone, looked up the address of the Magellan Club, and punched it into the GPS. He showed the map to his brother.
“I know the club,” Tom said. “Some of the guys at the station are members.”
“We’ve got to tell Joe to meet us there,” Conor said. “And he needs to have someone pick up Elise for questioning. She knows what happened to Maddie and CeCe, and I think she’s ready to tell.”
Tom drove out of the parking lot and headed toward Route 1 while Conor called Joe Harrigan. He explained what Elise had told him.
“There’s this guy, Coach,” Conor began.
“He’s on our radar screen,” Joe said. “He was on a sex offender registry out in California, but he left without reporting in. The FBI was going to pick him up, but he’s gone. No sign of him. His apartment looks lived in, but his dog hadn’t been fed, and his mailbox was crammed full. He seems to have fallen off the edge of the world.”
Conor thought of the crew member who had disappeared before Grub could go to trial on drug-smuggling charges. Possibly overboard with an anchor chained to his feet? If Grub felt law enforcement closing in, he might have thought Coach was too much of a liability. Conor wondered if anyone who posed a threat to Grub was destined for the anchor treatment.
The club was ten miles away, in a nondescript one-story building set back from the road. American and Portuguese flags flew above the front door. Unmarked police cars arrived at the same time as the Reids. Conor and Tom stood back, letting Joe and his team go inside to take Grub into custody.
