Known (33 page)

“He opened the door and there was an unconscious bleeding woman on his doorstep. He called nine-one-one and pressed a towel into the wound, expecting a crazed gunman to turn up at any minute. He had no idea who she was.”

“No reports on the vehicle?” Chris asked. He wished Michael were there. He knew how to ask the right questions. Chris was calm, but he didn’t know the ins and outs of police procedure like his brother did. Instead Michael was at the hospital waiting for Jamie to wake up after her surgery and working Violet’s disappearance with his phone.

“Not yet. The weather is still keeping a lot of people at home, so at least there’re fewer vehicles on the roads to watch for.”

No shit.
Twice Chris had almost slid off the slushy roads while driving Gianna from the hotel. “That probably means fewer cops on the roads, too. We can’t wait for someone to report a vehicle. We need to know
where
he would take her.”

Detective Becker nodded, eying him carefully. “We’re giving a lot of weight to the lead that the same guy broke into Gianna’s home and caused the fire at the cabin, but we’re not ruling out anything else.” He paused. “We got an ID on the prints of the second John Doe who was murdered in the Cascades.”

Chris waited, and Gianna gripped his hand tighter.

“Rafael Jones. Age twenty-eight. He’s local. Pretty long history of theft and moving violations. Has spent some time in the county jail, but nothing big-time.”

“Family?” Gianna burst out. “Where’s he work? Where’s he live?”

Detective Hawes held up her hands. “Slow down. We’re looking at all that. As far as we can tell he’s been unemployed for the past two years, but he’s been doing something to pay the bills. No immediate family in the area.”

“Why was he up in the mountains?” asked Chris.

Becker grimaced. “Don’t know yet. Haven’t found anyone who can tell us.”

“This is the guy whose fingerprints turned up on the fridge at the cabin I rented, right?” Gianna asked. “But his prints weren’t found in my home?”

“Correct.”

“He was shot in the head. Almost the same way that my father was. There might be two more people involved that we’re looking for. The shooter and whoever broke into my house.”

She didn’t say it out loud, but Chris knew she worried the shooter had Violet.

“What other leads are you following?” Chris asked. Rafael Jones’s background was a good place to start. It was possible that he was an associate of whoever had Violet.

“We’re still trying to identify some of the other prints from your house. We’re expanding to include more databases, but it can be very slow.”

Detectives Hawes and Becker exchanged a glance. “Once Lacey Campbell from the ME’s office notified us about the DNA match on the first body, we immediately started digging into everything we could find,” said Hawes. She sat down next to Gianna, meeting her gaze. “So far we’ve been able to confirm that your father’s been living under an assumed identity for a long time. One your uncle appears to have helped him create.”

“He thought he was doing the right thing,” Gianna whispered, strain filling her tone.

“I talked to your uncle. He told me the whole story and gave us a few leads to track what your father’s been doing the last few months. He also told me that your father believed he’d been followed lately. Enough to make him go dark when it came to keeping in touch with his brother. There’s a good chance someone tried to hurt you and Violet simply because he is your father.”

Gianna nodded. “Uncle Saul had suggested that. But it makes no sense. I’ve never been in touch with my father. Why try to hurt us simply because of who we are?”

“People have died for a lot less,” said Hawes. “It doesn’t matter what the truth is. If someone believes that you are a danger to them, they’ll do what it takes to eliminate that danger.”

Violet.

Her hand twitched in Chris’s, her fingers ice-cold. Her gaze didn’t leave the detective. “So we need to know exactly who was after my father. Because apparently they believe Violet and I present some sort of threat.”

“That’s exactly what we’re thinking. Following the trail left by your father also might help us find whoever took Violet. From what we’ve been able to track, your father moved to the Portland area about a month ago.”

“
What?
” Gianna rose halfway out of her seat. “He moved here just after I did? Where did he live before that?”

“Here and there,” said the detective. “We’re going off address changes and some scattered utility records. He doesn’t appear to have stayed in any area for very long.”

“Do you think he moved here because I was here?” Gianna murmured.

“I suspect your uncle is the only one who can speculate on that.”

“Saul said my father rarely remembered he even had a daughter.”

“Right. Saul told me of his brain injury. Perhaps he was finally able to keep you straight in his head.”

Two tears rolled down Gianna’s cheeks, and Chris wanted to murder someone. Anyone.

“Do you have a local address for her father?” Chris asked.

“Yes, that’s our next stop.”

“We’re coming,” stated Gianna.

Chris pulled into the apartment parking lot behind the detectives and the truck rocked as he hit two potholes. “Nice,” he muttered.

It wasn’t nice, Gianna observed. She wouldn’t let an enemy live in her father’s apartment building. Snow still covered the roof, but the parking lot and tiny patch of lawn were covered with deep puddles. The 1970s-style building housed eight apartments with tiny windows. Even with the snow, Gianna could see where the roof line sagged at the center. A drain spout had detached from the gutter and stuck out at an awkward angle, water dripping from the end. Two overflowing dumpsters blocked a few of the parking spaces, and the cars in the lot looked like they were from an auto parts salvage yard.

She wanted to cry.

Misery pummeled her heart and her brain. Between losing Violet and learning about her father, she was ready to crumble. Accompanying the detectives was a distraction from her thoughts, but every time she realized she wasn’t thinking about Violet, guilt swamped her.

She was being torn in two.

Detective Hawes had initially stated Gianna and Chris couldn’t accompany her and Becker to her father’s old apartment, but the detective hadn’t sounded convinced. Gianna pressed the issue, suspecting Hawes was just going through the motions. Compassion shone in the detective’s eyes, and she’d given in to Gianna’s insistence. Becker had stiffened when Hawes agreed but kept his mouth shut. Gianna suspected there had been words between the partners on the way to the apartment.

Hawes had laid down the rules. They weren’t to touch anything. The landlord had already opened the apartment for the police. Officers had secured the scene and one was waiting for the two detectives.

“Is there a crime scene unit there?” Chris had asked.

“Not yet. We want to look through it first. According to the officers who did the initial check of the apartment, it’s practically empty. No crime happened there.”

“But he’s been murdered,” Gianna had interjected. “Shouldn’t someone be collecting evidence?”

“We’ll make a decision when we get there.” Hawes had the final word.

A uniformed officer stepped out of the bottom-floor apartment closest to the dumpsters, his face resigned. “Done with me?” he asked Hawes as she stepped out of Becker’s car. The detective asked him a few questions that Gianna couldn’t hear and held her hand out for the key. She dismissed the officer, who made an immediate beeline for his patrol car, glad to be done with apartment babysitting.

The four of them stepped under the stairs that led to the upper apartments. “He said it’s unlocked.” Hawes looked at Gianna and Chris. “Give us a minute to take a quick look.” Gianna nodded as she and Becker stepped inside. They closed the door, and Gianna was left to look at the blistered, peeling paint on the door.

Will something inside lead us to Violet’s abductor?

“I can’t stand this,” she whispered. Chris said nothing but wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Images of her father swimming in the ocean off Spain and skiing in Colorado flashed in her head. How had he lived
here
?

She wanted to scream at the detectives to hurry up. Her daughter was waiting.

The door opened. Becker’s face was grim. “Okay. Once again. Touch nothing. Look all you want, but there’s not a heck of a lot to see.”

The light in the apartment was dim. A single bulb burned in the center of the kitchen ceiling, the light cover missing. The carpet in the living area had matted spots where furniture must have sat at one time. Now there was a single chair and a television tray table. No television. The kitchen revealed a glass by the sink and a tiny white coffee maker with dirty yellow stains.

One of her father’s habits hadn’t changed: a box of organic bran cereal, a plastic bag of bulk quinoa, three avocados, and two tomatoes huddled in a corner on the counter. Gianna paused, studying the food, remembering how her uncle had called her parents “health nuts” and how she’d once received an Easter basket filled with fresh fruit. She’d been crushed.

Looking around the apartment, she was stunned at the emptiness. “It’s so plain and tiny,” Gianna whispered.

“One bedroom, one bath,” answered Hawes. “There’s more in the bedroom. Looks like all he did was eat and sleep here.”

“But Uncle Saul was sending him money,” said Gianna. “I had the impression he didn’t want for anything.”

“What I gathered from my conversation with your uncle was that your father didn’t think like the rest of us. Maybe this is all he wanted.”

Who was my father?

Clearly he hadn’t been completely the man she remembered. She recalled nice cars and furniture and tons of clothing during her childhood. Her father had collected valuable books and art. So far this apartment didn’t have art or books. Saul had told her he was a different man, but seeing his living space drove the point home.

They moved down a narrow hall, stopping briefly to glance at an immaculate but tired-looking bathroom. One emerald-green towel hung perfectly centered on the towel rack. She looked away from the rust stains in the tub and sink. The entire apartment smelled like old dust, as if the carpet hadn’t been vacuumed thoroughly for the last decade.

Becker moved out of the way to let her into the bedroom.

Here was where her father had
lived
.

A double mattress lay on the floor; two new-looking sleeping bags covered it, clearly used as blankets. Two pillows, no pillowcases. Magazines and newspapers were scattered across the floor. Right next to the mattress was a footstool used as a nightstand. It held a tiny alarm clock, a school box filled with number-two pencils, and two Darth Vader PEZ dispensers.

He always loved Star Wars.

Did he see the new movies?

She’d never know.

Design sketches covered the walls. Some as big as movie posters, while others were on small sticky notes. She spotted two that had been drawn on napkins. Her father’s mind had never stopped figuring and creating. His ideas and computations on display. She looked at the closest sketch, unable to read her father’s cramped handwriting. The design made no sense to her.

“What is this?” She looked at Chris, who stepped closer and frowned at the drawing.

“I have no idea.” He looked at several of the drawings. “I don’t know what any of this is. Either your father was brilliant or . . .”

Absolutely nuts.

Gianna took a deep breath and studied the rest of the room. The small closet door was open and she spotted two suitcases. New. She moved to the open door and reached to push aside some of the clothing.

“Please let me look through things first,” instructed Hawes.

She jerked her hand back. “There’s not much here, but it looks brand-new.” Gianna stepped closer. “Eddie Bauer. All winter clothing. Just like he was wearing . . .”

“Saul said he was living in Palm Desert, so he would have needed new clothes for the cooler weather,” offered Chris. “I suspect your uncle was right when he said your father doesn’t think like most people. Clearly he had the funds to buy clothing and suitcases.” He pointed at the sleeping bags. “Those are expensive bags. I think he purposefully chose to live here. I think he simply needed four walls and a roof and didn’t see the point in paying a lot for it.”

Gianna nodded. She couldn’t look away from the mess on the floor. It wasn’t garbage; it was his work. Did he feel the need for a desk or computer? Or did he simply sit on the mattress and write? She could recall a computer in his home office. It’d been a rarity back then, and she hadn’t been allowed to touch it. “No laptop?” she asked.

“Maybe he took it with him,” Hawes suggested. “But I don’t see anything computer-related here.” She pushed aside a journal on the floor with her toe. “Your uncle called him a ‘freaking genius who no could longer remember to check his bank account balance before he spent money.’” She bent over and flipped open a notebook with a pen from her pocket.