Doubleback: A Novel (18 page)

Throwing on a pair of borrowed shorts and t-shirt, she went for a run along the banks of the lake. Thirty minutes later she was jogging back when a nondescript white Impala pulled into Luke’s driveway. She spotted an antenna poking through the trunk. An unmarked. A man in a white uniform shirt and black pants with a gun belt around his waist got out. He slipped off his sunglasses and hung them on his shirt.

“Morning. You must be Ellie’s friend.”

Georgia slowed. “Who are you?”

“Name’s Saclarides. Jimmy.”

“You’re the one. Lake Geneva’s Chief of Police.”

“Guilty as charged.”

She almost smiled.

“You used to be on the force yourself, I believe.”

She nodded. “I’m private now.”

“So I gather.”

He was deeply tanned, and slim, with straight dark hair receding from his forehead, a long, thin nose, and widely spaced brown eyes. She suspected those eyes could turn cold, but right now they were kind. He filled his uniform nicely, she thought. Very nicely. Suddenly she was aware of how sweaty and smelly she must be. She ran an awkward hand over her hair, then changed her mind and dropped it. She was what she was.

Jimmy’s glance seemed to take it all in. His voice softened. “I understand we have business to conduct.”

Georgia was grateful for his discretion. “Can you keep her safe?”

He smiled. It was a good smile, warm and kind, like his eyes. “I think that can be arranged. How long?”

“I’m not sure. A week or two. Until I get to the bottom of this. Unfortunately, it just got deeper.”

“I’ll handle it.”

“Where will you take her?”

He shook his head. “You shouldn’t know. Better for both of you. But take this.” He slid his hand in his pocket and fished out a card.

She glanced at it briefly. Two numbers. His office and probably his cell. “Thanks.”

“What’s your next move?”

“I’ll be going back to Chicago. I need to check on a few things.”

“You need help?”

She focused on his face. Did he want to wrest control of the case and hand it to the Illinois police? Contact O’Malley and Parker himself? She didn’t think so. He looked sincere. Concerned. Maybe even a little worried. He was a friend of Luke’s. And Foreman had vouched for him. “I appreciate the offer. I’m okay for now.”

He nodded and motioned to the card, which was still in her hand. “Keep that. You never know... down the road...” His voice trailed off.

“No. You don’t.” She closed her hand around the card.

•   •   •

The rain started on her way back to Chicago, a gentle summer rain. Georgia imagined thirsty crops and flowers opening up, drinking it in. For some reason that put her in a good mood. By the time she was back in her apartment, it had mostly subsided, leaving only a few drops to plunk on the metal downspouts near her windows. She checked her answering machine and saw the blinking red light. She skimmed the messages, then picked up her phone and dialed.

“Davis? Where the hell have you been?”

“And hello to you too, Dan.”

O’Malley sounded annoyed. “I’ve been trying to call you. Don’t you check your messages?”

“Sorry—I was—out of town. What’s up?”

“You’re okay, right?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?”

“Davis, I thought by now we could stop playing games.”

A momentary quiver shot through her. Was Jimmy Saclarides playing her? By now the cops had to know something about the account that Chris Messenger opened and closed. But how much? Had they connected it to Delton? And what about Sandy Sechrest? Did they know she was in Lake Geneva? She wanted to ask but knew O’Malley wouldn’t tell her. At least not directly. Despite their friendship, he was loyal to the Blue Brotherhood. She forced herself to stay cool. She could fence and parry as well as the next guy. “No games, Dan. I’m just working the case. Trying to figure things out.”

“Course. Well, I have something for you.”

“Yeah?” She braced herself.

“Yeah. The DNA tests came back. Prelim, of course.”

Christine Messenger’s fetus.

“And?”

He sighed. “What you’d expect. No match to anyone in our database. Or any of the Feds’, either.”

She relaxed. “Which narrows it down to about four billion people.”

“Only two, if you leave out females.”

So whoever Christine Messenger was sleeping with didn’t have a record. Or any reason to have surrendered his DNA to a government organization. She filed the information. What she really wanted to know was how far down the money trail the cops were. At the same time she didn’t want to tip her hand. She took a roundabout approach. “Where are you on Chris Messenger’s death investigation?”

“So far, we’re still calling it a motor vehicle accident.” She heard the hedge in his voice.

“You know it’s a homicide.”

“We know. You know. Everyone knows. But there’s not enough evidence.”

“So?”

“So Parker stays on it until he finds some. Which...” O’Malley cleared his throat, “is another reason I called.”

Here it comes, she thought.

“By the way,” O’Malley added, “you can cut the crap about being on vacation.”

Georgia stared at a bare spot on her living room wall. Pete had suggested getting some paintings or prints, but she hadn’t gotten around to it. Her apartment was comfortable, but spare. “I didn’t say I was on vacation. Just out of town.”

“Whatever. We really need to talk to the little girl, but her father won’t let us. We offered to bring in a kid shrink, a doctor, whatever he wanted, but he won’t budge. Says she’s too traumatized. He can’t go there.
You
, on the other hand, are working for him. And I know you’ve got a way with kids. And I’m betting the father would let you in. So...” He paused as if he knew what he was about to say was the last thing she wanted to hear. “Would you be willing to have Parker there with you when you talk to her? We figure she’s got to remember something about the kidnapping. It could really help us out. You too.”

“Are you kidding, Dan? You want Parker to tag along with me on an interview? Is that even allowed?”

“It is if I say so.”

She mulled it over. “I don’t think so.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, “What about someone else? I’ve got more than one dick working the case.”

She mulled it over some more. “No. I’m not taking anyone with me.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Well, will you at least brief us afterwards? We’re all on the same side here, you know that, right?”

“Does that mean you’ll share your information with me? You and Parker?”

He kept his mouth shut.

“That’s what I thought
you’d
say.”

“What do you want to know?”

“What about the link to the bank? Emerlich was an officer. Messenger, a Director. Assuming they weren’t having an affair, which I’m sure you already know, you’ve got to be looking pretty carefully at bank operations.”

“As a matter of fact, the Bureau is lending us a hand. They’ve got a forensic accountant going over a shitload of records.”

Which meant they’d probably found the cashiers’ checks. Maybe even who they went to. And, despite his promises, Georgia doubted Parker or O’Malley would share that information with her. She had to move fast if she wanted to get to the bottom of things before they did. It wasn’t a race, but being a cop meant having power—the power to interrogate, imprison, and prosecute— all powers Georgia no longer possessed. And while she wasn’t a vengeful person, she had to admit that a piece of her ego—maybe more than a piece—was wrapped up in the case. She wanted to resolve it first. O’Malley knew that. Still, she should let him think she was a team player.

“All right, listen,” she parried. “
If
I get in to see Molly, and
if
I get anything from her, I’ll let you know. In return, I want to know what that forensic accountant finds.”

“You got it. Thanks, Davis.”

She didn’t believe him for a minute. She stared at the spot on the wall again. She decided she didn’t want a picture or print.

chapter
22

T
he oversweet smell of food just beginning to rot emanated from Terry Messenger’s kitchen. Georgia tried not to notice as he led her into the condo that afternoon. It had only been six days since Chris Messenger died—barely enough time for a funeral and memorial service—but time enough to be swimming in casseroles, platters, and baked goods brought by concerned friends. Most of the dishes, uneaten and still wrapped in plastic, were crammed on counters and the tiny table.

Terry saw her eyeballing the food. “You want to take some? We’ll never eat it all. Neither of us is hungry.”

Georgia shook her head and resisted the urge to start putting things away. “How’s Molly?”

Terry winced. “I think it’s starting to sink in that her mom isn’t coming back.”

“Where is she now?”

“She’s sleeping. At last.” He flopped down in one of the easy chairs in the living room and let out a sigh. Georgia studied him. His crisp appearance, which she recalled from their earlier meeting, had wilted: his chinos were wrinkled, and she spotted a stain on his shirt. His bald head and face needed a shave, and the dark half-moons under his eyes were pronounced. If Molly wasn’t sleeping well, neither was her father.

She sat on the couch. “I want to fill you in on what I’ve found.” She summarized Chris’s actions surrounding the cashiers’ checks, services charges, and secret account, the incident at Sechrest’s Wisconsin cabin, and the link to Delton Security. As she explained, Terry’s eyes widened. By the time she finished, he was leaning forward. “This is—unbelievable. Mercenaries? Cashiers’ checks? Are you sure?”

“Why do you say that?”

“It’s just—so alien from the life she and I led together.” He brushed his hand across his forehead. “We were just your average, normal family, you know? A doctor and a banker. A little girl. But this—this sounds like something out of a movie.”

He looked like he was telling the truth; nevertheless, Georgia was careful. “So, nothing rings a bell? Nothing you can add?”

“Like I said, Chris and I haven’t lived together in three years. I had no idea her life was this—extreme.”

“There’s something else...” Georgia bit her lip. She didn’t want to mention it but knew she had to. “Chris was pregnant when she died.”

Terry’s expression grew weary. “I know.”

Georgia frowned. “How? Oh. The police.”

He nodded. “I wasn’t surprised.”

Georgia remembered Chris’s reluctance to call Terry when Molly was first kidnapped. Her fear that he would blame her, accuse her of being a bad mother. “Why not?”

“She’d been leaving Molly with baby sitters a lot. When I’d call, Molly would say she was out. So I figured she was seeing someone.” His jaw tightened.

Georgia caught it. Was there some truth to Chris’s fears after all?

“Do you know who it was?” he asked.

“I was going to ask you.”

He spread his hands. “I have no clue.”

“Would Molly know?”

Terry’s face hardened. “What does Chris being pregnant have to do with Molly’s kidnapping?”

“I’m not sure. But until we know who took Molly and why, everything is on the table.”

“Molly’s still not talking much. About anything. She’s definitely regressed. I talked to one of the kid shrinks at the hospital. She says that isn’t unusual.”

“Terry, I really need to talk to her.”

“About her mother being pregnant?” He scowled. “I don’t think—”

“About the kidnapping.”

“No. It would be too much of an ordeal.”

Was he just being a concerned father? Or was his unwillingness motivated by something else? Georgia pressed. “You asked me to find out who was behind Molly’s kidnapping. Especially in light of Chris’s ‘accident.’ That’s what I’m trying to do. Molly might be able to tell us something that will move this thing forward. But if you’re denying me access, I don’t really know how much more I can do.”

“It’s not that. But you, the police, everyone wants a piece of her. I just can’t risk it. Not yet. When she’s stronger.”

Georgia clasped her hands around her knee, trying to think of a way around the stand-off. She decided Terry wasn’t trying to stall. Or throw her off the trail. He seemed sincere. And he had a point. Molly had been traumatized. Her recovery would take time and patience and love. Even then she would always bear scars. At the same time, following up on bank records could only tell Georgia so much. It wouldn’t prove the events were connected. She needed more.

She rocked forward and took in a breath. Another odor overlaid the food smells—the musty smell of humans who’ve been cooped up too long. The air conditioning kicked on with a steady hum. As cool air began to circulate, Georgia dropped her hands from her knee. “I have an idea.”

•   •   •

The temperature had to be just right. Georgia knew. Her grandmother had tried to give her baths, but she’d invariably make them too hot or too cold. The only one who ever got it right was her mother. Georgia tested the water with her fingers. Never mind the elbow—that was an old wive’s tale.

The water was perfect. She went back into the living room where a sleepy Molly sat on her father’s lap, sucking her fingers.

“Okay, I think we’re good to go, Goldilocks.”

When Molly frowned, Georgia reminded her of the story. “This is your chance to play Goldilocks. If it’s not exactly right, you say so, and I’ll fix it.”

Molly cocked her head, as if the idea was intriguing, but she wasn’t convinced. Terry Messenger played it well. “I bet you and Goldilocks would have been good friends, don’t you think?”

Molly, still sucking her fingers, didn’t answer.

“Just give it a try, okay?” Georgia said. “If you don’t like it, you can get out of the tub right away. Deal?”

Molly looked Georgia up and down. Then she reluctantly detached herself from her father. Georgia held out her hand. Molly took her fingers out of her mouth, slipped her hand into Georgia’s, and they walked into the bathroom. Georgia hoped the water hadn’t cooled too much.