Buried (Detective Ellie MacIntosh) (23 page)

W
ho the hell takes infants to Disne
y
?
he wondered, holding on to the bar as the shuttle slid away.

Everyone, he decided a few minutes later, exiting the terminal. Not that he disliked children … one of his regrets was that he might never have a family, but traveling with small human beings seemed to be an excruciating experience after his afternoon.

At this moment, though, he was intent on getting out of the airport. He followed the crowd, skipped the baggage claim since he had his carry-on, ducked into the queue of taxis, and gave the address.

Joanne Fielding was expecting him and she opened the door at his light knock. His first impression was that she was an Italian beauty with a topaz hint to her skin, large dark eyes, though her lipstick was a little dramatic for his taste.

A decade older than Garrison Henley if he had to guess, but striking enough most men would not mind being seen out with her on their arm. Fielding had apparently agreed with that assessment. The house was nice, but definitely middle-class, with a stucco exterior and a cracked cement drive.

He needed some straightforward answers. Did they lie with her? He wasn’t at all sure, but that was why he was there. He extended his credentials. “Mrs. Fielding?”

“Lieutenant.” She stepped back and the skirt of the light yellow sundress she wore swung around her ankles. “I got your text when you landed. Would you like an iced tea?”

“No, but thank you.”

Her composure was much better than tears, but he still noted that she didn’t look directly at him. Her gaze slid past, and when he declined the offer of a drink, she gestured him to a chair by a glass-topped table in a room that overlooked a gracious backyard with several waving palm trees and then sat about as far away as possible without outright rudeness.

In a self-conscious movement, she clasped her knee. It was supposed to make her look comfortable and actually had the opposite effect. “You’ve come a long way. How can I help you?”

“You look a lot like your sister Lindsey.”

“When she called me and asked if I would speak to you, I almost said no, but in light of what happened to my husband, it is better than having her investigating it. I never dreamed she’d do something so stupid.”

“There have been three murders, so I couldn’t agree more. I was the one talking to the press when the Greta Garrison murders happened, and she recognized me in the grocery store. I think she took an opportunity to make a friend in the homicide division, just in case I had information she could use.”

“Oh God.” Joanne was pale under her tan. “David is dead. Doesn’t she realize that?”

Carl had never been one to ease around difficult questions. It wasn’t his style, though he still did it differently from Santiago’s blunt approach. “I
am
assisting the department on these cases. I thought it over, and I am sure you will understand that I decided, in light of what is happening up north, maybe we should have this conversation face to face.”

“I’m surprised they paid to have you fly down here.”

In truth the department hadn’t, but maybe they would eventually compensate him. If Metzger refused he didn’t really care all that much. Carl just lightly lifted his shoulders. “I’m sure, if you’ve been paying attention at all, that you realize this seems to be getting pretty personal. Fingers are starting to point at the Henley family in all three shootings. Did you know the car of a homicide detective was destroyed last night? We’d like to contain this as soon as possible. Your assistance would be invaluable.”

The breeze coming in the screen moved her hair but otherwise, she was utterly still, her body rigid. “I don’t have any assistance to give beyond what I’ve already done. My husband was killed. I don’t know what I would have to tell you that I haven’t. Do you think I am indifferent to the fact he was murdered?”

She wasn’t indifferent. She was scared. That told him something, but he wasn’t sure what. She’d also left the state, though most people would think Florida preferable to Wisconsin just for the weather, but he doubted that was why.

Patiently, he explained, “I can tell you one thing you can do to help me. Can we have a candid conversation over the paternity test? I first heard Garrison Henley said yes, but he changed his mind.”

Tight-lipped, she looked away.

“The Milwaukee Police Department doesn’t care who you were sleeping with, Mrs. Fielding,” he said. “Your involvement with the Henley family is not a secret.”

“I dated Garrison. That’s it. Involvement is a little bit of a stretch.”

The flat sound of her tone made him wonder if the trip hadn’t been worth it after all. “If you had his baby, I’m afraid some people might see that as involvement. You worked for the corporation they own. That’s how you met, correct?”

“My son isn’t his.”

“If you are so sure, why wasn’t your husband?”

“Jealousy, I guess. He started to get this crazy notion Garrison and I hadn’t ended our relationship.”

He really did not like how she refused to meet his eyes.

“Did he have some reason to think that?”

It was a shot, but he hit a nerve. The muscles in her throat rippled as she swallowed and color came up into her face.

When she didn’t say anything, he added pragmatically, “If Garrison agreed when your husband wanted the paternity test, it follows that he acknowledged you might be already pregnant when you got married. I admit I’m not sure why your husband suddenly felt the need to know years after the fact, but you’re right, guys can be touchy that way, raising someone else’s child and all. So he asks, and Henley refuses in the end because his rich family apparently doesn’t want to pay child support. That all makes sense to me. What I don’t understand—and I mean
at all
—is how it could be worth it to kill three police officers over this situation. Lindsey doesn’t either, or so she told me, but she seems to feel strongly that crossing the Henleys is a very bad idea, and I assume she got that information from you.”

Joanne just shook her head and whispered, “I had no idea … she needs to stay away from them.”

He couldn’t agree more. That Lindsey had been able to connect Brown and Crawford spoke of how much she’d been poking around, but when he’d called to get her sister’s location and number, she had at least trusted him enough to give it to him.

“Why did your husband call an undercover DEA agent? Leverage to get Henley to agree to the test?”

Joanne’s lips parted and her response was a whisper. “No. I … I don’t know.”

But she did know.

It was not as if he hadn’t seen that telltale shift in attitude before. “Mrs. Fielding, your husband was a police officer and a dedicated one. I’ve thought about this and I cannot come up with a single reason why he would not go through the proper channels, unless this was personal. He didn’t, and now he is dead. Help me catch who killed him.”

“I have a child. Do you even understand that, Lieutenant?”

Directly, no. But he knew quite a bit about the fear of loss and little Chloe came to mind, trusting enough to sit on his lap and play with his tie on the plane, vulnerable and innocent. That might be exactly why he had never married and
had
children. His job was dangerous … he didn’t want to leave anyone bewildered and alone.

But he sensed something about the case was going to break. He asked urgently, “Have you been directly threatened?”

Joanne rose, her eyes pleading. “I’m not going to answer that question. Don’t ask again.”

“The government of the United States has a good witness-protection program. I was able to find you.”

“Through my sister.”

“That means someone else could do it too. She gave me the information voluntarily, but—”

“Don’t say it.” Her voice broke. “Please, come with me.”

The place was generic, a rented condo in a beachside community, ten minutes from the gulf side, the furniture brown and beige and the floor tile. Carl followed Joanne Fielding down a short hallway and into a small bedroom. A portable crib sat next to the bed.

The child was peacefully sleeping, his thumb in his mouth, a blanket patterned with bunnies tangled around his chubby legs.

She whispered, “I think you can understand why I can’t talk to you. Thanks for stopping by, Detective. Have a nice flight back.”

*   *   *

Jason listened shamelessly,
and quite frankly, he was pretty good at deciphering a phone call on a one-sided basis. This wasn’t a good one.

He actually thought it was kind of funny when Ellie pressed a button and looked at him with caustic accusation. “Got all that?”

“Grasso is in Florida and Fielding’s wife cut him off without giving him a thing. Am I right?”

They were in a small supper club near some town called Merrill he’d never heard of, and he was having what he had to admit was some of the best walleye of his life, crisp and perfectly fried. While the bonhomie atmosphere was not his usual style because they were actually playing polka music in the background, the food was great and there was a spectacular view across a very pretty lake. They had checked in late afternoon to a motel on the same lake that had been at one time a summer resort obviously, made up of small cabins grouped around winding paths, with stairs down to several long docks and a boat-rental facility for canoes and rowboats, already closed for the season.

The person at the desk had recommended the restaurant, and as he polished off another piece of walleye, he had to admit he was really glad they had taken the advice.

It was a little cheesy, with deer heads and mounted bass on the walls, but these places had always appealed to him, like a glimpse into another life. Just the term “supper club” conjured images of rented cabins and evenings fishing off docks and campground fires.

He needed to vacation more, though having his car blown to smithereens as a catalyst to his current circumstances was not his preferred method of travel planning. In fact, losing his car made it more difficult than ever to travel anywhere.

Thinking about that was for another day. Staying alive took precedence.

“You’re right.” Detective MacIntosh took a bite of fish and looked deeply and thoroughly frustrated. “Grasso found her, though I am not sure just how he did it since she seems to be in hiding, and I can’t blame her for that.”

Why wouldn’t she be frustrated? She wasn’t able to be there with Grasso looking into the case, she was instead stuck with Jason, though that wasn’t entirely one-sided.

But there were worse places to be on this earth than sitting at a lakeside table with Ellie MacIntosh, a rising moon glimmering illumination on the water, even with a polka band in the background. He picked up a forkful of coleslaw. “I’m right? I just don’t hear that from you often enough and it gets sweeter each time. Let me bask in this moment. So, what now?”

“You are as much of a detective as I am.”

“Ah, vindication.” He ate the coleslaw and cocked a brow. He actually shared her unease. “I have no idea what it is Danni could have told me that would have caused anyone to take a preemptive strike at me. I keep sitting here and asking myself what I could know, and the answer is I have no idea.”

“You don’t have to know anything.” MacIntosh set aside her fork. “They just need to think you know something. Therein lies the problem.”

“Therein?” His derisive tone got to her, but he’d known it would.

“I read a lot of Poe, give me a break … So, as you said, what now?”

“Poe?”

“As in Edgar Allan. You’ve heard of him I hope.”

“Jeesh, that’ll keep you awake at night and—”

“I was joking.” She glanced out over the moonlit lake. “I’m much more likely to read a romance novel. And fiction can’t keep anyone awake as much as real life.”

He didn’t disagree. “Lots of pretty ruthless people out there. Gives me the creeps now and then what they are willing to do to each other.”

“Just now and then?” She took a sip of water, considering him over the rim of her glass. “So I think I can now give you some approximate dates.”

For searching those damn files in the cold case no one else but her cared about. He’d sensed the subject change by the reflective look on her face. “You know,” he said, actually weighing his words before speaking, which was not natural to him so he hoped she appreciated the effort, “I’m having a pretty hard time trying to figure out what you hope to gain from all this. I get the concept of justice—I hope I do, since this seems to be the profession I’ve chosen—but whoever that woman was, you can’t save her.”

“I can find answers for her.”

“Which she will never know,” he pointed out with what he thought was inarguable logic. “You want answers for
you,
and we both know it. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll wade through a load of crappy files if you insist, but have you asked yourself if you really want to know the answer?”

“Are you shooting from the hip again? I’m not interested in a philosophical discussion with you about my motivation.”

“That’s a great attitude. And here I thought we were bonding at last. I had tea with your great-aunt. We
must
be best buds. I hate tea unless it is of the Long Island variety.”

“You had tea only because she didn’t have any beer.”

“It
was
a disappointment.”

Her hazel eyes were direct. “I admit I’m curious, and to answer the question, I think that yes, I want to know. I think most people would want to know the identity of a skeleton that might, or might not, be associated with their family.”

Her aunt may not have offered him a beer, and to his credit he hadn’t asked, but he had one now and he took a drink. Fine, he’d given her the choice of just dropping the whole thing. “I saw the expression on your face, by the way. So, like me, you think it is the first wife in that grave.”

There, he’d said it. He was pretty good at being upfront.

His partner didn’t like it. She stared at him across the table. “Hardly. They divorced.”

“That will be easy enough to confirm.”

“It
is
confirmed. My great-aunt told us. You met her. She wouldn’t lie.”