Shattered Trust (Shattered #2) (15 page)

Chapter 26

Trenton

Tuesday morning I head toward my new offices in Crystal City. After a discussion with the building’s owner, I’d hired the same crew that had done the earlier construction. By the time I arrive, they’re hard at work. After a short conversation with the foreman to make sure everything is proceeding smoothly, I drive to my apartment. Since I’ll be working with Charlie the rest of the day and we’ll need food, I make a pit stop at the grocery store and pick up a couple of things. When I arrive at my building, he’s waiting for me in the lobby, sipping a Starbucks coffee. He’s addicted to that stuff. Good thing there’s one on the ground floor.

As soon as he sees me, he stands, battered briefcase by his side. “Hey, Chief.”

I nod at him. “Thanks for coming. Sorry to keep you waiting. Got your favorite bagels plus some ham, cheese, and chips to get us through lunch.” I fish out my elevator key card, insert it into the slot, and press “PH.”

“How is the office coming along?” he asks.

“As well as can be expected. They won’t be finished by Friday, that’s for sure. But my private office will be in good shape.”

“And your staff? When will they arrive?” he asks, taking a sip of coffee.

“Our target date is August third. According to Marcus, the Gardiner firm is complaining that the mass exodus will leave their criminal law practice group shorthanded. But if their employees want to leave, there’s nothing they can do about it. Others are interested in jumping ship as well, but I can’t take on any more employees until I get some clients.” Right now all I have is Mitch, and I certainly won’t be charging him for my time.

“Serves the bastards right for letting you go. They didn’t think that move through, if you ask me.”

“Dick Slayton was never good at people management or making decisions. Holden had Joss to smooth things out, but Slayton won’t, because I wouldn’t be surprised if she left as well. Nothing to keep her there with Holden gone.”

After I put away the groceries and guzzle down a glass of water, I check the mail. Thankfully I don’t find another nasty letter. I’d debated whether to hand the envelope over to Charlie and have him investigate, but I don’t want him to take on one more thing, not with all the other work he’s doing for Madrigal and me. More importantly, I don’t want him to know I was raped. Irrational as it is, I’ll have to live with that shame for the rest of my life.

I plop down a plate of fresh-baked bagels and muffins from the corner bakery and a container of cream cheese. After we serve ourselves, we get to work.

“So what did you find out about Mitch?”

“Nothing that you don’t already know. He has a pretty good-sized bank account. I suspect you had something to do with that.”

I shrug. “He taught me the art of trading in the stock market. I invested some of his money. We both came out ahead.”

He retrieves a notebook from his briefcase and plops it open on the table. “He graduated from Harvard, both undergrad and law school. After graduation, he went to work for Gardiner and stayed there until he jumped ship for the SEC. He owns a home in Loudoun County, a beach house in Bethany Beach, and another place in the Florida Keys.”

“Really?” I ask, biting down on a bagel. “I didn’t know about the Florida Keys.”

“Apparently, he likes to go deep-sea fishing. Some primo spots down there.” He guzzles back the last of his Starbucks and tosses the cup in the trash before he opens the refrigerator and grabs a water bottle.

“Anything else?”

“He’s never been married, but has had several relationships. None lasted longer than a year.”

“Come on, Charlie, I know all that stuff. I want to know his sins, his dark underbelly.”

“Sorry, Chief.” He snaps shut the notebook. “Nothing popped up other than he’s an alcoholic, but you already know that.”

“Yeah. He hasn’t touched a drop in I don’t know how many years.” Leaning back in the chair, I rest my head against my hands. “Fuck. I was hoping you’d find something shady.”

“The man’s a damn Boy Scout,” he says, grabbing a muffin.

I bounce forward, pull my laptop toward me. “Well, it is what it is. Let’s brainstorm, then.” For the next few hours, we work on several theories of the crime as well as list the names of those who were there the night Holden was killed. Charlie will need to investigate them, including Madrigal and Madison. Nobody is exempt.

“I’ll need to get the names of all the staff.”

“Hunter has those. I’ll get them from him.”

He cocks a brow. “Hunter, huh? You guys best buds now?”

I laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“Those are the exact words Madrigal used.”

“Well, are you?”

“Not best buds, no. Let’s just say we understand where we’re both coming from. As long as he doesn’t make a move toward Madrigal, we’ll get along.”

Charlie chokes out a laugh.

“What?”

“He’s got zero interest in your girl. It’s Cristina Sanchez who gets his motor running.”

“Cristina. Really? She has a boyfriend.”

“Yeah, like that’s going to stop a man like Hunter Stone. If he wants her bad enough, he’ll go after her.”

“Huh. Didn’t pick her as his type. Now about the murder . . .”

The rest of the day we go over likely scenarios. We don’t have anything concrete, but we do have possible avenues of investigation. Finally at three o’clock, I call it. He’s beat, and so am I.

“I guess I’ll see you Saturday?”

“Actually, I’ll be at the mansion tomorrow. I have some news for Ms. Berkeley.”

“What news?”

He clams up.

I chuckle. “Oh boy. Okay, fine.” I open my arms wide. “I had to take a shot.”

“Yeah, Chief,” he chuckles back. “You did.”

The drive to Madrigal’s house is brutal. An overturned trailer blocks I-66, and it takes me two hours to get there. Not only that, but the AC in the Jag picks today of all days to shut down on me. By the time I arrive at her house, all I want is a shower and a cold drink. I’m tossing my suit into my dry cleaning bag when she walks in, looking fresh as a cucumber.

“You’re here.”

“Yeah, I arrived a minute ago,” I say, sealing the bag.

“I have to tell you something you’re not going to like.”

I prop my hands on my hips and catch a whiff of me. God, I reek. “What?”

“I visited Mitch.”

“You what?”

She takes a step back. “Don’t yell. I did nothing wrong.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.” I wave a hand in the air. “Who gave you permission?”

“He did.”

“You should have asked me.” I tap my chest. “He’s my client.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d object. Why are you objecting?”

I peel off my shirt, toss it into the dirty clothes hamper. Those pit stains are not coming out. And that’s a $600 shirt too. “Because I like to know who he’s seeing.”

Her chin jerks up. “I’m taking Madison with me next time. He wants to see her.”

“Fine. But please limit yourself to one visit a week.”

“Why?”

“Because Charlie and I need to talk to him as well, and he may not be available to us at the same time. You do understand the case takes priority over a social visit.”

“Stop talking to me as if I’m a child, Steele. Of course I understand.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t.” I sit on the lid of the commode and drop my head in my hands. Fuck. This is not how I wanted our meeting to go. I glance up and plead, “Can we start all over again?”

Her lips quirk up. “Of course.”

I gaze at the beautiful picture she makes in her sleeveless flowered dress, and the tension flows out of me. “Hi, honey. I’m home.”

“I’m so happy you are. Would you like a drink, darling?”

“Not right now, sweetheart. Maybe later.”

She walks up to me, and even though I’m hot and sweaty and pretty sure I smell like a three-day-dead skunk, she kisses me. “I’ll be sure to make your favorite. What is your favorite, by the way?”

I shrug. “Anything with alcohol in it.”

She drops the 1950s saccharine-sweet housewife act, which I have to admit I kinda like. “Come on, Steele. I really want to know.”

“Do you?” I grab her by the waist, plop her on my lap, and my cock gets its hopes up.

“We’re not doing it while you’re sitting on the toilet.”

“In the shower, then?”

“Can’t. Helga is waiting for me downstairs. She wants to know whether you prefer mashed potatoes or baked potatoes with filet mignon.”

“Baked and dripping with butter”—I kiss her—“and sour cream”—I kiss her again—“and smothered with bacon.” I devour her mouth, which tastes of peppermint.

She wriggles free. “I’ll let her know. See you in a few.” I swat her bottom before she leaves.

That night I’m sitting up in bed with my hands folded behind my head, and she’s lying cuddled up against me when I decide to bring up her meeting with my client. Might learn something after all. “So what did you and Mitch talk about?”

“Oh, this and that. I caught him up on everything that’s been going on with Madison.”

“You didn’t tell him about Philippe?”

“I mentioned she had a boyfriend, that’s all. He wants me to bring him a photo from his bedroom and a couple of books to read.”

“Let me know what the books are, and I’ll stop at his place tomorrow.”

“That would be silly. He lives off Route 15. That’s out of your way. You shouldn’t have to make a special trip. Besides, I want to do it.”

“Why?”

When she sits up and plumps her pillow, I instantly miss her warmth. “Because he asked me, Steele, not you. If he’d wanted you to do it, he would have asked you.”

“He probably didn’t think of it.”

She grabs a bottle of her lavender-rose lotion and spreads some on her hands. “Or you never asked him. I want to do this for him.”

I’d offered to bring Mitch anything he needed, but he just didn’t ask.

“Please, Steele.”

She knows what those
pleases
do to me, the witch. I tweak her chin. “Very well. The key’s in my apartment. I’ll bring it back with me tomorrow, unless you want to meet at his house?”

“Why don’t I follow you into Crystal City in the morning and get the key from you then? The Arlington Commonwealth’s Attorney’s office wants to meet with me. I need to provide them with some documentation and security details before I start working for them. Might as well kill two birds with one stone.”

“Sounds like a plan. Now hand over that lotion.”

She bites down on her lip. “What are you going to do?”

“Rub it all over your beautiful skin, among other things.”

Her eyes round with wonder as she hands the bottle to me.

Chapter 27

Madrigal

“Thank you for coming, Charlie. You called to say you have news.” He’d rung me up the day before to request a meeting. When I’d prompted him, he’d told me it’d be better if we discussed the information in person. Since then, I’ve fretted, wondering what the heck he has to relate.

“Yes. I didn’t want to trust this to the telephone. Never know who might be listening. Can we go to the evidence room to talk?” He points in the general direction of the converted parlor he’s come to know so well.

“Of course.” As soon as we step inside and close the door, I ask, “What’s wrong?”

He sits in his usual spot, the chintz floral love seat, and pulls out a folder from his briefcase. “You asked me to look into your stay at the Meadowlark Mental Health Facility the year after your parents’ deaths.”

“Yes.”

He props open the folder on the cream-colored coffee table in front of him. “Well, according to their records, you were never there.”

“What? That can’t be. I spent an entire year in the facility as Dr. Holcomb’s patient.”

“I know, but there are no official records of that. After spreading some money around, I finally got a nurse to talk. Apparently, some patients stay there without records being created. Either the families don’t want anyone to know, or for some other reason.”

I jab my hand at the air. “Why would they conceal my time there?”

He rubs his chin while contemplating my question. “I don’t know. What do you remember about your stay?”

Wrapping my hands across my waist, I pace up and down the room. “My bedroom was pretty. I remember that. Blue wallpaper with little flowers on it. Yellow primroses, I think.”

He makes a note of that.

“The same nurse would come in every morning, take my temperature and blood pressure. She’d give me my morning pills. Then an orderly would roll in my breakfast on a cart.”

“You didn’t have breakfast in the common room with the other patients?”

“No. Never.”

He makes a note in the folder. “And then what?”

“I’d be escorted to the shower room.”

“You didn’t have one in your room?”

“No. Only a toilet and a sink. After my shower, I was escorted to Dr. Holcomb. He would talk to me, ask me questions.” Jagged memories of my time at Meadowlark crash into my mind like birds against glass. I’d been petrified of what they’d do to me, of never seeing Maddy again. I’d buried those memories long ago, but recalling them is one more painful step I must take to get to the truth of my parents’ deaths. God, will it ever stop?

After taking more notes, Charlie asks, “What did you discuss?”

“How I felt. At the beginning, my grief over my parents’ deaths overwhelmed me. Sometimes I’d cry; other times I would sit there and stare at the wall. When I became agitated, he’d inject me with something. Things got fuzzy after that. Then it would be lunch. If the weather was nice, they’d serve it on a private balcony, adjacent to my room. If it was raining or cold, I’d eat indoors. After lunch, I usually napped or read depending on whether I could stay awake. I’d take daily walks on the grounds, again if the weather cooperated.”

“By yourself?”

“A nurse would hover over me. I never saw anyone else. It was a pretty place filled with flowers in the garden.”

He jots something down. “And then what?”

“In the evening after dinner, they’d wheel in a television set. I’d watch shows from seven to nine, and then it was lights out. Next day I’d do it all over again.”

“And you did this for an entire year?”

“Yes. The routine never varied. At first I accepted it, but as time went on, I balked at the pills, the injections. That’s when they strapped me down and forced the medicine down my throat. I learned to acquiesce after that. I’d take them and hide them under my tongue, but then the nurse caught on, and I went back to being force-fed the pills. If they couldn’t get them down my throat, they would give me an injection, which made me stupid.”

“Did your grandfather ever visit?”

“Every Sunday afternoon for exactly one hour. I begged him to let me come home. But he said Dr. Holcomb wouldn’t approve. Finally, after a year, I was allowed to go home, except of course it wasn’t home but Gramps’s house. Terrified I’d be sent back to Meadowlark, I didn’t step a toe out of line. At least for the next couple of years. Gramps relaxed when he witnessed my good behavior, but he imposed strict curfews on me, just like he’d done with my mother. When I turned fifteen, I rebelled. One day I decided to go shopping with my friends after school. When I arrived home, my grandfather punished me by locking me into my room. If it hadn’t been for Olivia, who threatened to call the police, I wouldn’t have been given any food for the entire weekend.”

Charlie mumbles something under his breath. The only word I catch is
bastard
. He waves his pen in the air. “Did your grandfather keep a diary?”

“If he did, I haven’t found it. I searched his room and study.”

“Could he have kept one on his computer?”

“No. He was old-school, wrote everything down.” Just like Charlie.

He puts down his pen, shuts his trusty notebook. “He’s the key to solving your parents’ murders. His actions were too arbitrary, both the night of their deaths and when he committed you to the mental health facility. It was like he was afraid of something coming out.”

“But what could it possibly be?”

“I don’t know, but if we want to figure out who killed your parents, we’re going to have to find out. Is there someone he could have confided in?”

“Yes, Joss Stanton.”

“Talk to her. See what she says.” He pauses a moment before he proceeds. “If I may suggest something, Ms. Berkeley?”

“Please do.”

“You’re keeping Trenton Steele out of the loop because you want to handle this yourself.”

My shoulders tense. I swallow hard. “That’s not the only reason. He’s got enough on his plate with setting up his new practice and Mitch’s case.”

“I think you’re making a mistake. You need to bring him in. Everything in your case keeps circling back to your grandfather. Something tells me the two are related. Solve your parents’ murder case and you may find out who killed your grandfather.”

He may have a point. Am I letting my pride get in the way of solving my parents’ murders by shutting out Steele? Would his assistance help me get to the truth? “I’ll consider your advice, Charlie. Thank you.”

“One more thing I wanted to mention. I looked into Dr. Holcomb’s finances. He’s close to bankruptcy. Too many expenses and not enough income. His mental health facility doesn’t bring in the patients it once did. In my opinion, desperate men are dangerous, so I’d keep my distance from him.”

“He was my grandfather’s friend, not mine. Never mine, not after what he did to me.” He’d also been Madison’s doctor. But he won’t be anymore.

“Weren’t you almost engaged to his son?”

“He proposed. I didn’t accept.”

“Well, he might come calling again given the family’s financial straits.”

“I’ll instruct Hunter to refuse entrance to both father and son.”

“That would be wise.”

I’d been so worried about what he had to report that I’d failed to offer him the usual tea and biscuits. Seeking to remedy my sad lack of manners, I ask, “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“Regrettably, no. I got some work to do for Steele.”

“I’ll see you over the weekend, then? We’ll need to put this information on the boards and discuss it with the team.”

“Of course.” He thrusts his notebook into his briefcase and stands. “I’ll be here.”

No sooner does he leave than Dr. Durham calls. “I received Madison’s records from Dr. Holcomb. According to him, your sister suffers from a form of delusion referred to as confabulation.”

“What does that mean?” I ask, confused.

“It’s a memory disturbance, the product of fabricated, distorted, or misinterpreted memories without the conscious intent to deceive.” After a pause, she continues, “Did you verify your sister’s story about running away with the people she mentioned?”

“Yes, I did. Madison was telling the truth.”

“Hmph.” She sounds frustrated. No, more than that, disgusted. “Frankly, Ms. Berkeley, I saw no evidence of mental illness in your sister. She seems pretty grounded in reality. I’m quite concerned about the medication and the high dosages she was prescribed. It makes no sense to me.”

Yeah, I don’t think my sister is delusional either. Which begs the question: Why did Dr. Holcomb prescribe that medication for such a long time? Was he just incompetent or did he have some other motive?