Blind Rage (33 page)

The walls of the room were as crowded as the floor, with framed pieces of art from miniature portraits to massive landscapes. She went over to the gallery and studied a set of First Communion photos hanging side by side. The blond, dark-suited boys posing with folded hands, rosaries twined around their fingers, had to be Luke and Matthew. Bernadette’s eyes drifted to the right of the boys’ photos, where she saw a rectangle of bright wallpaper. A photo had hung there for a long time. Whose photograph had been removed?

She pulled her eyes off the gallery and continued her self-guided tour of the museum. Wandering over to a table, she picked up an enamel vase and speculated about how much it cost. “If you have to ask,” she muttered.

“That’s a highly important signed Norwegian vase, circa 1900.”

She turned around with the piece in her hands. “What makes it so important? The signed part, the Norwegian part, or the circa 1900 part?”

Luke set down a silver tray loaded with a silver coffeepot, silver creamer, and porcelain cups and saucers. “Actually, that’s a very good question. I would have to say that all three together classify it as highly important.”

Trying to imagine the price tag attached to “highly important,” Bernadette scrutinized the vase. It looked like an overgrown champagne flute and was decorated with small, dark red flowers set against light blue glass. She thought it was hideous.

“What do you think of it?” he asked as he poured a cup of coffee.

As she set the vase back down, Bernadette employed the word all Minnesotans used when trying to be nice. “It’s
different
.”

He handed her a cup and saucer. “Yes,” he said tiredly, “I think it’s ugly, too.”

She nodded toward the fireplace mantel. “I like the lanterns.”

“I light them at night to entertain the girls. We pretend we’re camping.”

She smiled, genuinely touched by the idea. “That’s neat.”

“Mother would be horrified. Her things were for show, not actual use.”

She sat down on one of the sofas and pretended to sip. Anyone brazen enough to try to drown an FBI agent could also try to poison one. “I wouldn’t keep things I couldn’t use.”

“As the oldest, I inherited the good and the bad—my parents’ wise moves and their mistakes—and I have to take care of all of it.” He sat across from her and took a sip of coffee. “It’s their legacy to me.”

“What about Matt? Is taking care of him part of the deal?”

“I didn’t appreciate the way you took advantage of his weaknesses. Getting him drunk.”

“He got himself drunk. He doesn’t need help from anyone in the boozing department.” She decided to bait him. “How do you know we had dinner, by the way?”

He took another sip of coffee before he answered. “He told me.”

“Or do you know because you followed us around last night?”

“Ridiculous. I have better things to do with my time than trail after my brother while he’s having one of his misadventures.”

His calm demeanor was aggravating, and she blurted her accusation. “You followed me and pushed me into the river.”

He froze with his cup halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“How? Why would I…? Where were you that I would have…?” He set the cup down with a clatter. “You followed my brother down to the river after dinner, didn’t you? You got him drunk, and when that didn’t get you anywhere, you decided to spy on him.”

“I had him under surveillance.”

“Surveillance. A government euphemism for a sleazy activity.”

“While I had him under surveillance, you shoved me into the river.”

“What do you want from us, Agent Saint Clare?”

“Where were you that night?”

He stood up. “I was going to give you those damn files this week.”

“Why the sudden change of heart?”

“I had a chance to speak with my attorney, and he advised me to give them to you.”

“Did he also advise you to try to drown me?”

“You’re crazy,” he sputtered.

“Is that your expert medical opinion, Doctor? If I were you, I’d refrain from making—”

“Get out of my house,” he interrupted.

She stood up. “Trying to kill an agent of the government is a big crime, Dr. VonHader. Big crimes get big time behind bars.”

“I’m calling my lawyer.”

“Don’t you think it’d be wiser to cooperate? Isn’t that what he advised you to do?”

“He didn’t know you were going to accuse me of attempted murder.” He pointed toward the front door.

“I can find my way,” she said.

He followed and pulled the door open. “Any additional communication to me, my brother, or my office staff must come through my attorney. There’ll be no more drunken dinner dates behind my back.”

She spun around and faced him. “What are you hiding, Doctor? Was Kyra Klein’s death the result of your malpractice, or were you involved more directly?”

His eyes widened. “What?”

“Did you murder Kyra Klein?”

“No!”

“Does the name Zoe Cameron mean anything?”

“She’s another one of my patients.”

“I guess the police haven’t contacted you yet. That’s okay. You probably already know that she died yesterday, and that in her purse they found a bottle of meds with your name on it.”

He took a step back. “I don’t believe you.”

“What about Shelby Hammond?”

“Who? That girl in the news? No! I had nothing to do with…What are you insinuating?”

“Do you like to take baths or showers, Luke?” She ran her eyes up and down his figure. “I’d say you’re a tub man. Did I peg you right?”

His face whitened, and he stood motionless with his hand on the open door.

She decided to toss one last hand grenade at him, looking for an answer to a question that her gut told her had something to do with the case. She pointed to the room they’d just left. “What’s the story on the missing portrait? Whose picture did you take down? Who’s the black sheep?”

Dr. Luke VonHader—family man, respected psychiatrist, and winner of numerous professional and civic awards—looked ready to puke on the shoes of his departing guest. He opened the door wider and said hoarsely, “Get out.”

Bernadette walked through the door and felt the breeze against her back as it slammed behind her.

THE RAIN
had stopped. Maybe she’d take the rest of Sunday off and hit it hard on Monday. Checking her watch, she figured that Garcia would be back home. She felt guilty about cutting him off when he had suggested mass. She fished out her phone and called him.

“How was church?” she asked cheerfully.

“Good,” he said. “How’d it go with the doc?”

She told him about it and her plans to pick it up on Monday with more research into the doctor’s family.

“What are you doing the rest of the day?” he asked.

“Crashing with a heating pad on my back.”

“Want me to bring over some lunch?”

“I’m not up for company, Tony. My back is really sore.”

A long silence on his end. “Take care of yourself…Check in tomorrow.”

He hung up, and she closed the phone.

Chapter 31

“WHAT’S UP?” ASKED CREED.

“Jeez,” she said, slapping her hand over her heart. He hadn’t been there when she’d first walked into the office on Monday morning, and his sudden presence at his desk startled her. “Can’t you give me some warning before you pop in?”

“What kind of warning?”

“I don’t know. Beep like one of those vans backing up or something.”

“Beep, beep, beep.”

“Oh, shut up,” she said, and turned on her computer.

“I have to ask. Did Alice have a crappy time in Naked Land last week? Was it helpful at all?”

“Not really. I’d rather not talk about it.”

“What about our ASAC? Did he enjoy himself?”

“I don’t think so,” she said, starting to peck at her keyboard. “VonHader, VonHader, VonHader.”

“That only works if you say it into a bathroom mirror at midnight,” Creed volunteered.

“What?”

“You summon someone by saying his name three times into a mirror.”

“You say ‘Bloody Mary’ three times, and she comes out and kills you. I think that’s how it works. I’m not a hundred percent certain. I’ve never been to a pajama party.”

“No friends?” he asked.

“I had to get up early and help with the cows.” She stopped typing for a moment and put her hand on her lower back.

“How are you feeling after that bad date and impromptu dip in the water?”

Blinking, she cranked her chair around to stare at Creed.

He stared back at her from across the room. “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t tell you about going out to dinner with Matt or getting knocked into the river.”

“Nor did you inform me about the close call you had in the basement with those reprobates.” He folded his arms in front of him. “You’ve been holding back on your partner, and I don’t appreciate it.”

“How do you know about all that?”

“Phone conversation between you and Garcia.”

She hadn’t picked up the phone yet that morning. “Ruben—”

“I need to be briefed on these things and not via eavesdropping.” He leaned back in his chair. “Tell me about this VonHader.”

“I visited Dr. VonHader at home yesterday.”

“The guy who was the shrink for a couple of these dead girls,” Creed said. “Your bad date’s brother.”

“Yeah. Right.” She paused, confused about what she’d actually told him versus what he was gleaning some other way. “I—I saw a blank space up on the wall where a picture must have hung. When I asked about it, the doctor flipped out.”

“You think the missing picture has something to do with the case?”

“At the very least, it has something to do with how the brothers turned out, all screwed up and such. That’s the only lesson I took away from my visit to porn central: how boys are raised determines their sexual habits.”

“‘Of all the animals, the boy is the most unmanageable.’”

“Plato,” she said numbly, remembering the quote.

“Very good.”

“What did you think of the surveillance at the professor’s house?” she asked evenly.

“Thorsson did his usual to screw things up. Too bad about that Cameron girl. Are you sure her death is connected to these drownings? It seems a separate incident entirely.”

Working hard to keep her voice calm, she said, “You’ve been following me around.”

“I have not,” he said.

“You’ve been following me around, and I want it to stop.”

“I’m looking out for my partner. Doing my job.”

She twined her arms around herself. “Have you been going home with me? Where have you been? What have you seen?”

He stood up and went around to the front of his desk. “I apologize if you feel violated.”

“Don’t do it anymore. Please.”

His eyes went to her computer. “Need some help?”

“No,” she snapped. Then in a softer tone: “No, thank you.”

“Would you work more efficiently if I left for the day?”

She knew how much he enjoyed getting back into the job, but he was rattling the hell out of her. “Would you mind?” she asked.

“I have other things I can do,” he said.

“Thank you.” She returned to her typing. A minute later she glanced toward his desk, and he was gone. She exhaled with relief and got back to her research.

Abandoning her usual government databases, Bernadette started surfing the Internet. A Google search using the words
Luke VonHader
turned up screen after screen listing awards, research projects, and articles in professional journals. They all involved the doctor’s stellar career, and she’d read enough about that. She wanted to get to his family life. She tried using the brothers’ names together, and one article came up: a brief story that had run in a neighborhood newspaper about a donation they’d made to a health care facility, Sunny Park Nursing Home.