Needing (15 page)

“I don’t
drive
it.” She waved a hand in a dismissive manner, pristine, long, red-polished fingernails catching a strand of her hair. “Although someone drives me
around
in it.”

Ah, it was like that, was it? Definitely one of those people.

“When was the last time it was used?” Langham asked, his voice compact.

Oliver wondered if they were going to talk about this on the doorstep all night or whether this rude woman would actually invite them in. He was dying to sit down, even if only for five minutes. His head ached, his broken finger ached—hell, his whole damn body ached.

“This morning. Robert took me into the city.” She smiled tightly.

“Robert?”

“My driver.”

“And the time before that?”

“Hmmm, let me think. Perhaps it was yesterday. Did I go out yesterday? Hmm, I’m not sure. I’ll have to consult my diary. Wait here one moment.”

She disappeared inside and closed the door before Langham could stop her.

“Shit. She could be doing anything in there. Warning this Robert.” Langham grimaced and ran a palm over his now-stubbled chin.

“You have a suspicious mind,” Oliver said.

“I have every reason to. Especially as her car is involved in an abduction.”

“Point taken.”

They stood on that red step, statues of impatience as they waited an interminably long time for Mrs Shields to return.

“What the fuck is she
doing
in there?” Langham muttered, the tic working beneath his eye again.

He was tired, that much was certain, and Oliver selfishly wondered if the detective would be too tired for their date. “This house is so big, she might have to walk a fair way to wherever she keeps her diary.”

“Ridiculous having a house this big,” Langham said. “Probably only her and a husband, a few hired help. What’s the point? Why not downsize?”

Oliver disagreed. “Why
not
have it if she can? Why does she need to live in a smaller house if she can afford to live here?”

Langham looked at him as though he’d grown horns. “You serious? This place should be filled with people, not one or two rattling around, voices echoing.”

“It might have been, once. She might have had several kids, they’ve left the nest, and now there’s just her and possibly her old man left. It’s still her home. She shouldn’t have to leave it, leave all the memories behind because other people think the place is too big for her.”

“Other people. You mean me. Just say it.”

“Yep, you. Entitled to your opinion and all that, but I don’t see it the same way.”

“Didn’t ask you to.”

“Nope, you didn’t.” Oliver stopped it there. He wasn’t in the mood for their sniping, and the tone Langham had used meant it would be more than banter if they continued this way. “So, what happens if she comes back saying she never went out yesterday or any of the days that car was spotted at Glenn’s?”

Langham didn’t respond. The front door swung open on well-oiled hinges, and Mrs Shields stood there again, diary in hand.

“Well, I didn’t go out yesterday. I thought I had, but after looking in here I see I have my days mixed up.”

Old age crept up on you even if your body looked younger.

“Does…Robert use the car for his own purposes?” Langham cocked his head.

“No, he most certainly does not!” Indignation came off her like sleet—pointed and sharp, stinging and cold. “He lives in—I would know if he used it without my permission. Why ever would you ask such a thing?”

“May we come in, Mrs Shields?”

Oliver watched for her reaction. He felt she was hiding something, although he couldn’t get a handle on exactly what it was.

“Is that necessary?” She pursed her mouth, agitation making her top lip gain a row of vertical lines much like comb teeth.

“It would be more comfortable…” Langham sniffed, smiled.

“I would
much
rather we spoke out here.” She glanced back into the house, a large foyer with gleaming white tiles and a mahogany staircase at the centre, shooting straight up to a veranda much like the one outside the house. Gaze back on them, eyes wider, though she hid any anxiety very well, she said, “Just tell me what the problem is and I will deal with it. Broken back light? Did I forget to purchase new road tax? Flat tyre? What?”

Oliver wanted to laugh. She was good at this acting innocent business.

“None of those, madam.” Langham sighed, his irritation with her game obvious.

“Then what, for God’s sake?” She clamped her lips closed, sucking them in so their rose hue disappeared.

They reminded Oliver of a shaved vagina.

Jesus. I need sleep…

His man coughed. “How about child abduction?”

Her mouth sagged open. Colour, pink as a tongue, formed rounded spots on her cheekbones. A gasp came out of her, asphyxiated, torn, an after-thought—that gasp should have come first, shouldn’t it? “Child abduction? Whatever do you
mean?
”

“Exactly what I said, madam.”

“Surely not!” She moved back a few inches, started closing the door. “There is no way my baby would be involved in such a thing.”

“Your baby? Would that be Robert?”

She rolled her eyes, the irises disappearing for a moment, her whites blood-veined, bulging. “No! My baby! My
car!
”

“Right, Mrs Shields. I’ll be frank with you. I’m tired. Very tired. I’m investigating several murders. A child is missing, taken by a man driving your
baby.
Now, either you let me in, or I call for back-up.” Langham glanced about. “Your neighbours…they’re close enough to see your driveway. See a few patrol cars travelling up it. Is that what you want?” He shrugged. “With my car, us two standing here, we could be salesmen. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

He said that last statement like he spoke to a dense child. Yeah, he was tired—overtired.

She blinked several times. “I really don’t think—”

“I don’t care what you think. I am coming into your house to ask questions whether you want me to or not. Whether it’s now or later, I don’t care. Unless you prefer to accompany me down to the station. Would that suit you better? Of course, we would drive you, not Robert. Your car. It will have to be collected. Forensics will need to check it.”

“I am telling you, Detective, my baby wouldn’t transport an abducted child.”

She spoke as though her car was a living being. Was she cracked in the fucking head? Oliver was starting to lose patience with her as well. He had the urge to shove her into the damn house, march her to a sofa and get some bloody answers.

“Your baby would have had no choice, because Robert, or a man at any rate, would have been
driving it!
” Langham snapped. “Where is Robert now?”

“I… I… He
was
here, but—”

“Convenient.” Langham clenched his jaw, ground his teeth together so the muscles in his cheeks danced. “Listen, I’m not into pussyfooting around you now. I’m going to call for another officer. He will bring uniformed officers with him, who will have your car towed away. You will speak to me and my colleague here, about the times Robert has driven your car with your knowledge. If you are so sure it hasn’t been used without you in it, then you must have been present when he visited the home—several times, I might add—of the abducted girl before finally taking her away for good. Now, that girl was taken but has been able to get away from her abductors because she has
returned home and killed her parents today
.” Langham bunched his fists. “We do not know where she is now, but I intend to find out. Your car was used to take her, so it isn’t a far-fetched assumption that the young girl has been kept here. I have probable cause to enter this house without a warrant. Do. You. Understand. Mrs. Shields?”

“Yes. Yes! I’m not stupid!” She glanced back again.

What was she
doing?
Checking the coast was clear before she let them in? Stalling them? Oliver glanced at Langham, who opened his phone and walked back down the drive—the only way anyone could get off the property, unless they chose to dive into the river at the rear. He barked orders, striding across the gravel, his shoes crunching—Rice Krispies in milk, amplified—his face rigid. He finished his call, features now composed, flat and expressionless.

“Mrs Shields. You’re married, correct?” he asked.

“Yes.” Her hand fluttered at her throat again. “But only in name. He… We’re separated. Have been for quite some time.” She blustered on, “I…I was building up my career. He didn’t like it. He… I earned more than him. We—”

“Your husband is a police officer. A detective?”

Oliver’s guts twisted.
Jesus Christ…

“Yes.” She looked back again, damn her, cheeks redder now.

“A detective currently unavailable, one on duty, who, for reasons unknown, hasn’t reported in and isn’t answering his phone.”

Oh, fuck me…

“What has that got to do with me where he goes?” She bit her bottom lip, the flesh around her two front teeth bleaching white.

“And you are the owner of PrivoLabs, correct?”

“Yes. And what of
that?
”

“Mrs Shields, I would like to take you into the city for questioning.”

“I’m under arrest?” She let her jaw drop, a pathetic attempt to look dismayed, and shook her head.

“Not yet, no. But I have a feeling you will be.”

Chapter Thirteen

Officers had arrived within minutes, oozing over the house and grounds like ants on a mission. Mrs Shields had been taken into the city, bristling and prickly as she’d been led to a police car. Oliver thought Langham’s touch of having her escorted in a marked car amusing—if she was involved in this crap, she deserved to be seen, to have people know she was a criminal. A small part of him wondered whether that woman
could
be involved. She didn’t look wily, didn’t even seem the kind of woman who could head a huge corporation like that. There was no authority about her, really, only an indignant, belligerent air that most people he knew with money possessed.

And what about Shields himself? He was
married
to her? Christ, he hadn’t said a damn word about that. He should have, what with PrivoLabs being involved. He shouldn’t have even been a part of the case. How had he expected to keep that quiet? It would have come to light sooner or later. And did that mean he
was
involved in the abduction, in PrivoLabs’ wrongdoings? Did he remain silent about everything so he was in on the ground floor, able to know where the investigation was going so he could warn Cordelia Shields? Was their separation a ruse?

Oliver didn’t know, didn’t fucking
know,
and as he followed Langham through the massive house, mind swimming with too many questions, he wasn’t sure he
wanted
to know. Yeah, Shields taking a big fall was something he’d take pleasure in, he could admit that all right, but the way Shields had treated him, accusing
him
of being a killer all those times, when all along he’d been involved in something like this?

“Fucking stinks,” he said, realising too late he’d spoken and not thought.

“Yep,” Langham said. “Like a bacteria-riddled turd.”

They were upstairs, wending in and out of the many bedrooms, finding no Glenn Close and nothing to imply she’d been there. Frustration burst from Langham, great bubbles of it with every sigh he gave, every grunt he made. Oliver wanted to pop them all, make them go away, but Langham was in detective mode and wouldn’t rest until he got some answers.

“You getting anything?” Langham asked. “Any pushes from dead people?”

Oliver hadn’t been taking any notice. Tiredness was probably a factor, his senses dulled, mind unable to cope with anything more than his own thoughts charging through his head. “No, but I can try.”

He stood in the middle of what he assumed was a guest room, double bed in the centre, wooden wardrobe and matching beside cabinets the only other furniture. Pine, if he wasn’t mistaken. Varnished a deep amber that bordered on orange. It looked cheap, considering the amount of money Cordelia had. He closed his eyes, clearing his mind of everything that filled it. The relief of that alone eased the ache in his shoulders, the tension squirting out of his muscles like toothpaste from a tube.

It came, a voice, whisper-soft and one he hadn’t expected to hear.

“I’m outside.”

“Shields?”

Langham spun around, eyebrows raised so high his eyes appeared lidless. “What the fuck?” he mouthed. “Jesus fucking Christ. This isn’t something we need at the moment, a cop being killed. Riles all the other coppers. Damn man always did fuck things up.”

“Shh! I don’t want to lose him,” Oliver said.

“Well! He winds me the hell up.”

“He won’t anymore, will he!”

“This is hard. Can’t…”

“Hold on, Shields,” Oliver said. “Relax. Concentrate only on speaking to me. Imagine you’re just resting with your eyes closed, and speak, let the words come.” Oliver’s mind filled with questions, ones he didn’t bloody need. He’d have to work hard to keep Shields with him if he wanted answers.

“Right. I’m sorry. For… I’m just sorry.”

“Fuck being sorry. That crap doesn’t matter anymore. Just tell me what you know.”

“Cordelia, she isn’t involved. Hasn’t got a clue what’s been going on. You hearing me okay? Is this working?”

“Yep. Go on.”

“It’s Robert, her new man. Passes him off as a chauffeur, not that I give a monkey’s what he is. He’s the one you want. The one who…who left me outside.”

“What were you doing here?”

“I came to…to warn her. Went to see Mrs Roosay. She spoke to me through the letterbox. Told me the number plate of the car. I knew then…knew I should have said something about Cordelia owning Privo, that I didn’t think she had it in her to be involved in something like this.”