Last Night, page 8
Zane’s EPIRB indicated that he was less than a mile away. The RB-M was taking a pounding but rode the waves fine. When they neared the source of the rescue beacon, they encountered the Anna G with her starboard rail underwater. Her mast, her winches, and every inch of her fiberglass were coated with ice and snow, salt-crystal icicles dripping from the rigging. About a hundred yards off the bow, the life raft’s strobe blinked and reflected off the flakes. They approached the raft, its rounded, snow-covered canopy giving it the appearance of a storm-tossed igloo.
Sam slowed the engines and drew along the raft’s windward side. Zane was not visible at first, but he unzipped the viewing and ventilation port, and his hand shot out. The wave action was fierce. The raft and rescue vessel bounced up and down on cresting waves, completely out of sync with each other. Timing was critical. One wrong move would send Zane or a crew member overboard.
There wasn’t time to lose when Stone—the Golden Gate surf-station veteran, the big-wave surfer—turned to him and grinned.
“I got this,” Stone said.
And Tom knew he did, and Stone did what he had to do, and Zane Garson was safely brought aboard USCG RB-M 45738. Tom was relieved to see that he was alone. Often Zane took his teenage son, Ronnie, out lobstering; it reassured Tom, slightly, that Zane’s judgment had been good enough to leave the kid on shore today. He gave the order, and they turned and headed back to their home port.
10
Conor woke up at dawn. Gray light filtered into the bedroom. His mind had swum with dreams—as often happened when he first got a case, his dreamworld had been all about the victim, the crime, the scene. He got dressed and left Kate sleeping under the down comforter. He went down to the gym.
He did half an hour on the treadmill, then a circuit on the weight machines. Kate joined him then—she’d brought his swim trunks down, so he changed and they went into the pool. They had it to themselves. The sun had no doubt risen, but the snow was still falling, and that was all he could see. There was something about swimming in warm water with a blizzard raging outside the wall of windows. He felt the tension leave his muscles, but last night’s dreams were still with him.
“Do you think the storm will ever stop?” he asked Kate after they had showered and changed and had had coffee in the lobby.
“Do you want it to?” she asked. “I like being trapped here.”
He smiled at her. She was amazing to say so. They had both taken vacation time to be here. Her plane was a ten-minute ride away, and he knew that she had hoped to take him up in it, fly out to Block Island, and walk or cross-country ski the trails in Rodman’s Hollow. He’d wanted to take her to Newport, have clam chowder at the Black Pearl and drinks while overlooking Narragansett Bay from the Inn at Castle Hill.
“I like being trapped here, too,” he said. “With you.”
“But there’s a lot to do on this case,” she said.
“You’re right about that,” he said. “Not so much me, but Joe and Garrett. They’re really constrained by the weather. The crime scene is a mess—no way for them to get useful tracks or prints.”
“What did Joe say about you taking the things you found under the bush?”
“He thanked me. I’m sure he’d rather his guys had retrieved them, but under the circumstances . . .”
“At least they were found by a cop,” Kate said.
“Yeah,” Conor said. “At least that.”
Conor was glad to have been able to examine the evidence he’d found in the snow cave before Joe picked it up, after Kate was asleep. Conor had spread the objects out on the desk: the key, the now-defrosted grapes, the red Christmas tree bulb, the piece of ribbon, and the square of baby blanket. Star.
That was valuable evidence for Joe’s investigation. Conor and Joe now knew almost conclusively that since CeCe never went anywhere without her security blanket, she had been present at the time her mother was murdered.
Conor imagined her hiding in the hollow. Had Maddie put her in there, anticipating the arrival of someone dangerous? Or had CeCe crawled in on her own, after seeing her mother get shot? Either way, he was sure that she had been there during the attack. Why had the killer let her live? She was a witness, and Conor would have expected her body to have been found beside Maddie’s. He believed that someone who would shoot a mother in front of her child wouldn’t hesitate to kill the child as well.
Unless the murderer hadn’t known she was there. Or knew and cared about her. Loved her.
Unless taking CeCe had been the reason for Maddie’s murder. A custody kidnapping couldn’t be ruled out, but there was another category that Conor feared more. Child disappearances and kidnappings were the worst cases. He knew there were monsters out there. He was certain that Joe Harrigan and Pat O’Rourke were combing through the Connecticut, Rhode Island, and southeastern Massachusetts sex-offender registries. That would be their focus, but they would also be questioning anyone in the region with a history of violent crimes.
He opened the photo file on his laptop. His pictures were stored in the cloud, so they had migrated from his phone, and he looked through the most recent until he found the shots he had taken in Maddie’s suite.
He noticed the Christmas tree covered with bright bulbs, and he figured that’s where CeCe had gotten the red one. There was a stash of wrapping paper in the corner, along with rolls of ribbon, including gold. On the kitchen’s marble counter was a charcuterie platter, including small bowls of fruit—the grapes.
He flipped through until he got to the photos that he had taken of Maddie and CeCe’s drawings. The one of the carousel and the key made him lean closer. The key was the same shape as the one he’d found at the scene. He noticed, again, how Maddie seemed to have pressed it down into the paper, and he studied the faint impressions of numbers.
Last night Conor had snapped on gloves, removed the silver key from the evidence bag, and set it on the desk. There were nine digits imprinted into the metal. He had compared them with the ones from the drawing, which he had documented in his notebook. They were the same, and that’s when he realized they were a routing number. This was a safe-deposit key, and the routing number would identify the bank where the safe-deposit box was located. He had taken close-up photos of both sides of the key.
He had worked on many investigations that involved financial issues, and he had access to several databases of bank information. In a recent case, he had downloaded files to use while offline. They were stored in a folder on his computer, so he opened it now and began to run through the list. He hoped to compare the routing number on the key with those in the document, but nothing matched.
He called Hadley’s cell phone.
“Do you know where Maddie did her banking?” he asked.
“I don’t,” Hadley said. “Why?”
“Just wondering.” Conor knew that the police would have taken Maddie’s purse, and he wished he’d had the chance to examine it before.
“What is it?” Hadley asked after he’d been silent for a few seconds.
“I was thinking her checks would have the bank’s name printed on them.”
“Oh,” Hadley said. “I have a copy of one of hers from when we paid the property tax on the house in Connecticut.”
“Could you look?” Conor asked.
After a minute, Hadley came back on the line. “The bank is BSNE.”
Bank of Southern New England, Conor thought. He recognized the abbreviation and had most recently encountered it during the investigation of a murder-suicide of a couple in Silver Bay. BSNE was known for its private-wealth division, located in branch offices throughout the region.
“Can you read the routing number to me?” he asked. “It’s on the lower left.”
She did, and it matched the one on the key.
“Now, can you tell me which office? Is that printed on the check?”
“It just says ‘Resource Management Account’ with a phone number.” She read it to him, and he wrote it down.
“Thanks, Hadley,” he said. The thought of a custody kidnapping was still on his mind. “Have you heard back from Bernard?”
“No, I’ve been trying him nonstop.”
“Let me know when he calls back.”
“I will,” Hadley said.
Next, Conor rang the BSNE number she had given him and got a recording. You have reached the Bank of Southern New England, Hartford, Connecticut, office. If you know your party’s extension, you may dial it at any time . . .
Conor hung up, then did an internet search and got the bank’s address. He assumed they had safe-deposit boxes and that the key went to one of them. Even though the branch was in Connecticut, the key had been found at a Rhode Island murder scene, so this would be a matter for Joe Harrigan. It was time to hand over everything he had. Conor texted Joe’s cell.
Joe didn’t text back.
So this part of the case still belonged to Conor, at least for now.
11
CeCe was hungry and thirsty. It was daytime now, and she and the boy were still in the freezing-cold car. Snow kept falling hard. She had to go to the bathroom. He got out of the car and was gone for a few minutes, and she wanted to run, but he came back looking like a snowman, and she was stuck.
“Where’s the boat?” he asked, as if she knew. “I just checked, and it’s not there.”
She didn’t answer. She hadn’t said a word to him since last night, when he had said the terrible thing about Mommy.
“It’s supposed to be in the harbor,” he said. “Where the hell is it? I mean, what if I missed him, didn’t see him through the snow? But he was going to wait. If he came and didn’t see us and left . . .”
CeCe heard a rumbling sound. Smashing and crashing. Bright lights shone through the snow as the noise got louder.
“Duck down!” the boy said.
CeCe didn’t do what he said. She stretched her neck as far as it would go so she could see. When she saw a big huge snowplow going by and dropping sand, with fountains of snow and slush shooting into the air from the blade, she screamed.
“They can’t hear you,” he said.
She thought the boy was going to yell at her for disobeying, but he actually sounded happy.
“Finally,” he said. “We’re supposed to wait here, but screw that. Forget the boat and the plan. Now that the road is plowed, I’m driving us home to Galilee.”
My home is the yellow hotel, CeCe thought.
But she didn’t say it out loud. She sat very still as he backed the car out of the alley, wheels spinning. He steered onto the road, the narrow strip just cleared by the snowplow, and with the window wipers going, he drove slowly out of town, away from the yellow hotel, away from where she had been happy with Mommy.
12
Conor assumed that when Bernard Lafond called Hadley, it would be from California. But the origin was much more local—from across the lobby in the Ocean House, where Conor and Kate sat with Hadley.
“Hadley! You’re here? Impossible!” Bernard said. He was about Conor’s height—six two—and was dressed as if he had just come in from the cold. He wore a black Moncler parka—the same label as the one Maddie had been wearing. His silver hair curled over his collar. He leaned down to kiss Hadley on both cheeks, and he smiled as if very happy to see her.
“Bernard, I’ve been calling you!” Hadley said. “Have you gotten my messages? Is that why you’re here?”
“Here because of your messages? What are you talking about? I turned my phone off. I haven’t checked my voice mail. I need quiet.”
“Why are you here, then?” Hadley asked.
“Scouting a location for my next film,” he said. “At least I was, before this insane storm.” He spoke directly to Hadley, but then his eyes flicked toward Conor, then Kate. His gaze lingered on Kate for a moment. “Excuse me for interrupting.”
“This is Conor Reid and Kate Woodward,” Hadley said. She sounded nervous, and Conor imagined her trying to formulate how to give him the news. He seemed relaxed. Was it possible he had no idea about the crime?
“I’m Bernard,” he said, giving no last name, as if he assumed everyone knew exactly who he was.
Conor stared at Bernard, taking in his affect. He hadn’t mentioned Maddie or CeCe. The murder and kidnapping had occurred less than twenty-four hours ago. One benefit of the weather was that it had kept the news trucks away. The Amber Alert for CeCe was attracting attention, though, and soon it would be worldwide news. If Bernard was not answering his phone and hadn’t been watching TV, he could have missed it. But wouldn’t he have seen the police in the lobby, on the beach? Seeing Bernard seemed to break a dam in Hadley; tears began to flow, and she let out a sob.
“What’s wrong, Hadley?” Bernard asked, seemingly taken aback. “Is it so hard to see me? Has Madeleine so thoroughly poisoned you against me?”
Kate put her hand on Hadley’s arm. It was enough to urge Hadley to get up and follow her out of the lobby. Kate had seen Conor’s investigative style firsthand; she knew that he hoped to avoid Hadley saying too much. Conor wanted to observe Bernard’s reactions to a few questions.
“Merde,” Bernard said. “The divorce is destroying everything. She is a lovely person, ma belle-soeur. She was always kind to me.”
“Excuse me, belle-what?”
“Belle-soeur. My sister-in-law,” Bernard said.
“Well, it’s probably a shock to see you here,” Conor said. “She thought you were in California.”
“Did she say that?” he asked.
“It was mentioned,” Conor said.
“I should be pleased, maybe even relieved, that she spoke of me—I know Madeleine has told her terrible things to turn her against me. We were a good family; I always welcomed her visits to us.”
“The separation must be hard,” Conor said.
“I miss my wife and daughter terribly. So yes, you could say that,” Bernard said in a scoffing tone.
“When did you last talk to them?” Conor asked.
Bernard laughed. “What are you, a cop?”
“Why would you ask that?” Conor asked.
“Because I’ve played them, and that’s how they speak. ‘When did you last talk to them?’ Come on!”
“You got me. I’m a cop.”
“No wonder you have the delivery,” Bernard said. “Let me give you some advice. Change it up. You’ll be more effective.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Conor said.
Bernard smiled and pushed his silver hair out of his eyes. “Sorry. I was rude. I’m just fucking frustrated about the weather.”
“When did you land?” Conor asked.
“The day before this mess.”
“Funny, we haven’t seen you around the hotel.”
“Jet lag, working on my movie, good room service. No need to leave the room. How do you know Hadley?” Bernard asked.
“Just fellow hotel guests.”
“I get that,” Bernard said. “Trapped in the blizzard. Survivors of the storm. It’s like being marooned on a desert island; you get to know people quick.”
“Hello, Conor.”
Conor looked over his shoulder and saw Joe Harrigan and Garrett Milne coming through the lobby. Conor had called Joe an hour ago and made arrangements to hand over the things he had found at the murder scene.
“Hi, Joe,” Conor said. “This is . . .”
He was about to introduce the men, but he saw the recognition in Joe’s eyes.
“Bernard Lafond?” Joe asked.
“Yes,” Bernard said, with the same self-assured smile he’d given Kate and Conor when they’d first laid eyes on him.
“We’ve been trying to contact you,” Joe said. “I’m Detective Harrigan, and this is Detective Milne.”
“Wow, cops everywhere,” Bernard said. “Why would you want to contact me?”
“How long have you been here?” Garrett asked.
Bernard looked annoyed. “What is it to you?”
“I’m sorry to inform you that your wife is deceased,” Joe said, his gaze boring into Bernard’s eyes.
Conor stared at Bernard, watched the blood leave his face. Bernard shook his head, held it in his hands. “No,” he said softly once, then again.
He didn’t ask how she had died; he didn’t ask where she had been found. He just stood there, in the circle of detectives, his eyes shut tight and his head shaking as if he could dislodge the news he had just received.
“Where is my daughter?” he asked, opening his eyes. His voice trembled.
“CeCe is missing,” Joe said.
“No!” Bernard said for a third time, but this time he didn’t say it softly.
Conor had seen many suspects lie, pretend to be surprised when given bad news. He could have sworn that Bernard’s reaction was honest and spontaneous.
But, then again, Bernard Lafond was widely considered throughout the world to be a very fine actor.
13
Hadley felt calmer, after the shock of seeing Bernard. By the time she and Kate had returned to the bar, Conor was alone.
“Where’s Bernard?” Hadley asked.
“The police are questioning him.”
“Why is he here at the Ocean House?” Hadley asked. “It seems too crazy to think it’s a coincidence. Scouting locations? Really?”
“He said he had a fantasy of Maddie walking through the door. He knew she came east, and I suppose he knew she loved this hotel.”
“Yes, but she absolutely didn’t tell him she had bought a suite here. The whole point was to hide from him—she was scared. That’s why there was so much secrecy and security, the reason why no one could know she was here. It was because of Bernard,” Hadley said.
Hadley stepped away from Kate and Conor, stood at the door that led to the verandah. She glanced at the ship model in the glass case. The classic yacht was sleek and streamlined, with a glossy black hull and a varnished cabin top. It was a replica of Aphrodite, the real yacht that lived in Watch Hill Harbor during the summer. Hadley wished she could step aboard with her sister and niece and go out to sea, get away from all of this, have life be beautiful again.
