Heart of the Night (6 page)

Will stared at her for a minute, then, in a tight voice, he gave her the names. On further questioning and only after significant prodding on her part, he also provided her with a list of workmen and service personnel who had been at the house in the last month. He gave her the names of the valets at the club, Megan's hairdresser, and the cab company Megan regularly used. When, slightly appalled, he asked whether Savannah was planning to contact all those people, she shook her head.

“Since you don't feel that anyone you've seen recently has behaved at all strangely, we won't do anything at this point but keep their names on a list. If it turns out that the valet at the club bought a van yesterday, Ginny and Chris will pay him a discreet visit.”

Setting down her pen, she rose and poured two cups of coffee. After she'd given Will his, she put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I think I'll wander around for a few minutes. I'll be back.”

Heading out of the kitchen, she passed through the large foyer, continued on through the living room, and cautiously opened the library door. Sam Craig was on his knees on the carpet, gently pushing something Savannah couldn't see into a plastic bag. His partner, Hank Shanski, was carefully dusting the part of the bookshelf that had been disturbed. They wore their jackets to protect them from the cold air blowing from the broken glass door.

At her appearance, they both looked up. With a smile, Sam asked, “How's it going?”

She answered eloquently by raising her eyebrows. Clasping the coffee cup for the warmth it yielded, she looked around. The scene was much as Will had described. Had she not been prepared for the damage, she would have been far more upset. Right now her professionalism overrode any panic she felt within.

“How about here?” she asked. “Are you finding much?”

Hank answered first. Of medium build, he was the more easygoing of the two. Totally dedicated to his work, the row of studs in his left ear was his token rebellion. “Lots of prints.
Lots
of prints. Of course, unless these books have been wiped down real good sometime in the last fifty years, we could be cataloguing prints of several generations of Vandermeers.”

Savannah would have laughed if the situation hadn't been so frustrating. “That's swell. We can fingerprint Will for reference and probably get a makeup or perfume bottle with Megan's prints on it, but the Vandermeers of days past?” Pulling her blazer more tightly around her, she shook her head, then turned to Sam. “Anything over there?”

Sammy Craig was the true freethinker of the duo. One need not look at the patches in the knees of his jeans or the faded Snoopy that graced the front of his sweatshirt or the dark, wavy hair that fell to his shoulders to guess that. One look in his clear brown eyes and anyone could tell that he was daring. His most invaluable skill as a detective was his imagination. In some respects she felt it was a waste to have him searching for samples for the lab, rather than working in the field, but she trusted Sammy more than any other cop. She wanted him here with Will.

Sam looked at her and said, “I've picked up some bits of dirt—probably from the garden—and a couple of fragmented footprints. Whether they'll tell us anything, I don't know.” He sat back on his haunches. “We're dealing with pros. Whoever did this didn't make any mistakes. I checked the patio, but there's nothing—no trampled shrubbery, no broken branches, no discarded gloves. They picked their day well. If there were any tracks over the lawn, the rain has obliterated them.”

He glanced at the French doors. “I looked real close at those. The break was definitely from the outside, probably made with a large mallet of some sort.” He smirked at Savannah. “Not your croquet variety. Whoever did this brought his own tools, then took them away with him when he was done.”

Pensive, she nodded. “Have you been through the rest of the house?”

“Not yet. Did Vandermeer find anything disturbed anywhere else?”

“No.”

Sam looked around the room. “My guess is that everything took place right here. The kidnappers knew that Megan would come downstairs at some point during the night. There's no covering on the French doors, so once she put on the light, she was in a goldfish bowl. They broke through the glass, opened the door, grabbed her, dropped the note on the desk, and walked out.” He looked at Savannah with intently curious eyes. “What I can't figure out is how her husband slept through it.”

Savannah wondered about that, too. The sound of a large object hitting glass would have made a racket. Besides, she assumed Megan would have screamed. “There are signs that she fought them. They must have silenced her somehow. Any traces of chloroform, or another kind of drug?”

Slowly and deliberately, Sam shook his head. “No obvious spills or drips. There was a dried ring of something on the desk, but it smells like coffee. It's probably been there several days. I've taken a sample. The lab will know for sure.” He held Savannah's gaze. “No sign of any bodily fluids.”

She swallowed hard. “Which means she wasn't cut.”

“Or raped.”

“Yes.” She took a deep, slightly shaky breath and let it out in a shiver as she wrapped an arm around her middle. “God, it's cold in here.”

Returning to his work, Sam said, “Give me a minute, and I'll warm you up.”

She had to smile. “You've been threatening to do that for five years now.” Turning to leave, she said over her shoulder, “One of these days I might take you up on it.” The last of her words was cut short as she shut the door, but Sammy knew what she'd said. He knew, as she did, that she would never take him up on his offer, any more than he would want her to. They liked, trusted, and respected each other. They were both attractive, roughly the same age, and unattached. But there never had been the slightest spark of physical attraction between them.

Returning to the kitchen, Savannah found Will in the same spot. His hair was disheveled and the knot of his necktie had been loosened. “No call,” he told her, then murmured, “Stupid of me. You would have heard the phone if it had rung.” He paused impatiently. “When are they going to call?”

She wished she knew. “It's early. They're probably giving you a chance to get your act together.”

“Or sweat a little.”

“Maybe. Have you had anything to eat?”

“I'm not hungry.”

“Tired? When Susan gets here, you could try to get some rest.”

“I got plenty last night,” he said, making no attempt to hide his self-disdain.

She couldn't help but follow his lead. “What time did you go to bed?”

“Early. A little after ten.”

“Was Megan with you then?”

“Yes.”

“But she got up at some point. Do you have any idea when that was?”

“I didn't wake up, if that's what you mean. But from what Megan's told me before, she probably slept for a few hours, then got up at twelve-thirty or one.”

“How long was she usually up?”

He shrugged. “A couple of hours. Then she'd go back to sleep.”

“Did she last night?”

“How would I know that if I was sleeping?” he snapped.

She indulged his bad humor. “You might have woken, or been half asleep but aware of her beside you. I hate to have to ask these questions, Will, but I'm trying to narrow down the times during which she was taken. As things stand now, we guess it was somewhere between midnight and six. The kidnappers wouldn't have risked anything after dawn.” She paused and studied his downcast expression. “You didn't hear a thing during the night?”

“No.”

“No noise you might have thought was part of a dream?”

“Nothing.”

She nodded, glanced around the room, then inhaled a deep breath. “I'd like to take a look around upstairs. Is that okay?”

He was suddenly cautious. “The kidnappers didn't go up there.”

“How do you know?” she asked, but her brows were raised and a gentle smile touched her lips.

With his mouth compressed into a thin line of surrender, he sent her upstairs with a flick of his hand. Savannah wasn't sure what she was looking for, but there wasn't much more she could ask Will. He was wound tight, feeling frightened and bruised. It seemed best to leave him alone for a bit. Perhaps something would come to him.

Savannah had only been to the second floor of the house once before, when Megan had wanted to show her the diamond earrings and necklace that Will had bought her for their second wedding anniversary. Four years had passed since then. Megan hadn't bubbled about anything as exquisite as those jewels, and Savannah had never again climbed the stairs.

The change was subtle, but sad. The house had aged.

Trying to ignore that, Savannah wandered the length of the balcony railing. She peered into one guest bedroom, then another. Each appeared neat and stale. A third room was sadder, in its way. It was to have been the nursery. Megan had had it decorated soon after her marriage, at a time when she'd seemed sure children would be forthcoming, and indeed, soon after, she had become pregnant. In her fourth month, though, she had miscarried. To Savannah's knowledge, she hadn't conceived again.

Savannah came to a halt at the door of the master bedroom. It was truly a stunning room, with a four-poster bed, surrounded by brocade drawbacks that matched the drapes. The dressers were antique and the accessories—small oil paintings, delicate china figurines, brass lamps—were well chosen. She knew that Will had done extensive renovation and redecorating in the days immediately before his marriage. She suspected nothing had been done since then.

The bed was unmade, but otherwise the room was immaculate, which was surprising. As a schoolgirl, Megan had been a slob. Will was the neat one of the pair. Either he was doing the cleaning now, she mused, or Megan had turned over a new leaf.

Feeling like an intruder, she forced herself into the room. She noticed small things—the books on the nightstands, the gold earrings on Megan's, a pair of glasses on the mantel, cold ash in the fireplace. Stopping at the entrance to the master bath, she couldn't help but smile. She knew that Megan adored this room. It was huge, the by-product of an older, smaller bathroom and what had once been a gentleman's dressing room. The walls were lined with sinks and mirrors, the ceilings with recessed lights. Large plants were everywhere, and in the center of the room was a jacuzzi.

Savannah flicked the wall switch that turned the radio on. The sound of Reba McEntire's voice filled the room. Savannah listened for a minute, a small smile creasing her lips. The song drew to an end. Her pulse skipped a beat. She waited.

But the voice that followed was not the one her senses were conditioned to hear. It was louder, less intimate, more boisterous than gentle.

“You're listening to cool country, 95.3 FM, WCIC Providence. This is Joseph Allan Johnson taking you through the afternoon hours. It's three-oh-four now and warmer than it's been, thirty-seven degrees and drizzling outside our studio. I've been advised that there's been a three-car accident on I-95 southbound near the 195 interchange, so if you're leaving the city early, you'll want to take an alternate route. We'll keep you informed of the progress on that one. 95.3 FM, WCIC Providence, for a little country in the city. At three-oh-four, we've got a five flush coming up without a commercial break, kicking off with the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band.…”

Feeling empty, Savannah turned the radio off and left the bathroom. She went to the hall, paused at the railing overlooking the foyer, glanced back at the bedroom, then down again. The master bedroom suite was almost directly above the library. If only Will had heard something. If only he had set the alarm. If only he would say yes to bringing in the FBI.

She paused at the top of the stairs, then went back to peek into the one room she hadn't inspected. It was smaller than the others. There was no more than a desk, several chairs, a file cabinet, and a lamp. The desk was strewn with official-looking papers. It seemed that Will did work at home. But why didn't he use the library downstairs, and why, fastidious man that he was, did he leave things in such a mess?

She went downstairs and for several minutes stood at the bottom of the staircase. If Megan had managed to escape her kidnappers and reach this spot, would Will have heard her?

“Did you find anything?”

Startled, she swung around to see Will at the head of the hallway that led to the kitchen. “Uh, no. Actually, there was nothing. No great inspiration.” She paused, thought, frowned. “Will, why wasn't the alarm on?”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I suppose I could say that Meggie turns it off when she's up so she won't accidentally set it off, and that's probably what I will tell the insurance company.” He hesitated, biting the inside of his cheek. “The fact is that it's broken. It hasn't worked for a couple of months. The repairs will require several thousand dollars' worth of rewiring. I figured I'd let it go until the business took an upswing.” Savannah knew the admission caused him pain.

“Several thousand versus three million. Looks like you bet on the wrong horse.” She tried to inject a lighthearted tone, but bitter shock shone through.

His laugh was the saddest she had ever heard. “That's nothing new. I've been doing it for years. If I had a knack for picking the winners, the business wouldn't be dying now.”

“Why haven't you hired someone to help?”

“An outside consultant?” His anguished chuckle touched Savannah. “Because they're expensive.”

Savannah could not respond. It wasn't her place to lecture, nor was she in the mood. The emotional strain of Megan's kidnapping was beginning to get to her. She found it stressful to pretend otherwise.

“Well,” she sighed, “that's neither here nor there right now.” She glanced toward the library. “Let me see if Sammy and Hank are ready for a lab pickup.” Just as she turned, Will started forward.