Son of the Enemy (27 page)

Duncan stared at him. “There was no stalker. I went through this at the time with that cop, that rookie.” He waved his hand dismissively. “For some reason he chose to believe Daly’s story, even though no one else did. I told him then and I’m telling you now, there was no stalker.”

John looked over at Hannah, her hands folded between her knees, probably to keep them from shaking. He ached to hold her and take the pain away.

“No?” John said. “Well, I have information that says there
was
a stalker, and there’s a very good chance it’s the same man who is now stalking Hannah.”

“So what do you want me to do about it?”

You piece of shit.
“What kinds of gifts were left at the house?”

Duncan leaned forward. “Look, Samuels. I’m telling you there was no stalker. The man who killed Sharon is rotting in a prison cell, which is exactly what he deserves.”

John walked up to the desk, laid his fists on the edge and leaned across until Duncan sat back. “Fine. We’ll play it your way. What kinds of gifts did your wife’s lover leave at your house?”

“It was a long time ago. I don’t remember.”

John leaned closer. “Try.”

“I don’t know,” Duncan said angrily. “Flowers. That sort of thing.”

“Could you be a little more specific?”

“Roses. Lots of roses. Now will you leave?”

John shook his head slowly. “You’re unbelievable. You haven’t seen your daughter in what, sixteen years?” He extended an arm toward Hannah. “Look at her, Duncan. Pull your head out of your ass for a second and take a good look at her. She’s a beautiful woman. She’s funny and warm and smart as hell. And the most generous, empathetic person I know. Did you know that she runs that school you abandoned her at? You know, the one where she tried to commit suicide? The Grange?” John was shouting now, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Do you know a goddamn thing about her?”

Duncan slammed his hand on the desk. “I don’t want to know about her! She’s nothing but a carbon copy of her mother. And I want you out of here, now. Both of you.” He stood.

“We’ll leave,” Hannah said from the couch. John turned to her and was instantly ashamed that he’d lost control. Her chin was raised, her back straight as she stared down her father with the most dispassionate expression he’d ever seen on her face. “But not until you tell us what we came to find out. If the person who’s been stalking me was stalking my mother, then damn it, I want to know.”

Duncan seemed shocked to hear her speak, and just stood there for a moment, staring down at his desk. Then he crossed to the window, shoved his hands in his pockets and gazed out at his garden. “He left her roses at first. A scarf, once. And a hand mirror. Little painted boxes. A necklace. That kind of thing.”

“Her lover wouldn’t have been stupid enough to leave presents at her house,” Hannah said. “Sam Daly was a professor, not a moron. Did you ever see the guy who left the stuff?”

Duncan stood stiffly, unwilling to even glance at his own flesh and blood. “I don’t know who I saw. One morning, I heard a sound and looked out the window on the landing. I saw someone walking away from the house, and when I went down there were red roses sitting on the kitchen table.” He paused. “I’d sensed your mother had someone on the side. That was proof, as far as I was concerned.”

“I guess she was looking for a little warmth,” John said.

Duncan whirled on him. “What do you know about it? I gave that woman everything.
Every
thing. And she humiliated me. Do you know what that feels like?” He pointed at Hannah. “Oh sure, she’s beautiful. Just like her mother. When I saw her standing there—” He faltered for a moment. “For a fraction of a second, I believed Sharon had come back from the dead. You think I want to look at that face? You think I want to be reminded of Sharon? Of what she did to me?”

“Jesus Christ,” John said. “It’s all about you, isn’t it?”

“Did you call the police when you saw the man leaving your house?” Hannah’s voice was calm.

Her father ran a hand over his hair. “I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

“Try to remember. It’s very important.”

“I can’t remember. Do you want me to make something up?”

“It’s hard for me to believe you wouldn’t have jumped at the chance to report your wife’s lover to the police for breaking and entering,” John said.

“For all I know Sharon left the back door unlocked so he could slip inside.”

Hannah stood and walked slowly toward her father. “That’s not true and you know it. You went downstairs every night and checked all the doors and windows. I remember you doing it. I was terrified of being alone in my room. Mom always looked in the closet and under my bed before she tucked me in, and you would come upstairs and tell me no monsters could get into the house because you had locked them all out.”

Duncan seemed to shrink from her. “Well, someone got in, and I don’t think it was some mysterious stalker who’s now stalking you down in Virginia. That’s just crazy.”

“Did you report it?”

“No! Why would I? So the locals would know my wife was having an affair?”

“Let me get this straight, Duncan,” John said. “Someone broke into your house, left flowers for your wife, and you didn’t report it because you were afraid of
gossip
? Did it ever occur to you that your wife and your daughter could be in danger?”

“No! If the guy was her lover, why would he come into the house, leave flowers and then kill—” He stopped.

The room was silent for several beats.

“Did you really believe Sam Daly killed her?” Hannah asked. “At the time?”

“What does it matter what I believed?” Duncan was visibly shaken. “The police found the letters, all the evidence pointed to him, he was convicted. Case closed.”

“When did the person come into the house?” John asked. “What was the date?”

“How the hell do I know?”

“Think, goddamn it! If Sam Daly had an alibi for when someone broke into your house the police might reopen the investigation. Your wife’s killer could still be out there. He could be stalking your
other
daughter
.”

Duncan stared at John like he had two heads. “Do you honestly believe I would lift a finger to help the bastard who fucked my wife and tried to convince her to leave me?”

“Sharon’s not your wife anymore, Martin.” Mrs. Duncan stood in the doorway, the pain in her pale green eyes belying the ice in her tone. “I am. And it’s time you did the right thing.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

By the time they got in the Taurus and headed back to Marblehead, it was nearly dark. John insisted that they stop at a diner to grab a bite to eat, but Hannah had no appetite, so she drank more coffee and pushed the scrambled eggs around on her plate. The afternoon had been tortuous for all of them, including her father’s new wife, Angela, who had seen her husband with new eyes. Once he realized Angela had heard the whole conversation, her father had been much more forthcoming with information.

Even though neither of her parents reported the break-in all those years ago, a rookie cop named Ronald Geer came back after her mother’s murder to follow up on Sam Daly’s claim that a man had been following her around for months. Hannah’s father had insisted it wasn’t true, that Sharon would have told him if she was being followed. Clearly, the grieving husband, a prominent neurosurgeon, had a whole lot more credibility than the man accused of his wife’s murder. Her father also admitted that the psychiatrist who had worked with Hannah, Dr. Naguchi, was a friend of his, and that Naguchi had “guided” her through the trial. When the judge asked Hannah if she knew the man in the bedroom, she had been told to say, “The man who loved Mommy.”

Hannah thought about the dream she’d had, that night John had held her while she slept, in which she heard the man’s voice saying
I love you, I love you, I love you
while her mother’s blood dripped onto the white carpet
.
If that was a real memory—and she had no way of knowing that now—then Dr. Naguchi must have interpreted it the way her father wanted him to, the truth be damned. Her father had wanted his revenge on his wife’s lover, and the police had wanted the case solved quickly. Sam Daly had no alibi for the time the murder took place. He was convicted on a preponderance of evidence, all of it circumstantial except for the sworn testimony of a six-year-old girl who was hiding under the bed, where she’d gone to sneak a peek at her Christmas presents.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Hannah raised her head and gazed into compassionate hazel eyes. He had seen the monster—the one that couldn’t be locked out of her house at night.

“I’m ashamed of him,” she said. “My whole life I was ashamed of myself, because I wasn’t good enough for my father to love me. I was flawed in some fundamental way. But seeing him today…” She didn’t need to say any more. Dr. John knew exactly what she was talking about.

John wrapped his hand around her wrist. “This had to be one of the most painful days of your life. But if it helped fill a hole in you, maybe it was a good thing.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a pretty deep hole.” She paused. “Do you think this Officer Ronald Geer is still on the police force?”

“I intend to find out.”

“If he wrote down his conversation with my father in his notes, and if my father at least verified that the date of the break-in was the same date Sam Daly had told the police… I mean, if he had an alibi for that date and time, would that be enough for the police to reopen the investigation?”

John hunched forward, his hand still wrapped around her wrist. “If the break-in was early in the morning, chances are my father was at home with us. It would be a matter of getting his wife to corroborate that.” He focused on her wrist, but she heard the anger in his voice. “My mother. Getting my mother to corroborate that. Which would be damn near impossible.”

“Well, if Geer was following up on Daly’s claim, surely he would have spoken with her at the time. It must be in the file.”

“She took off right after he was arrested.” John let go of Hannah and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “With me. The police got squat out of her.”

“She wasn’t there for the trial?” He shook his head, and she decided to drop it. Later she would ask him about his mother, but not now.

John yawned and rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. “I’ll try to contact Geer as soon as we get back to the inn. Maybe we’ll get some answers.” He caught the waitress’s attention and ordered two more coffees and the check, then rested his forearms on the Formica table and looked Hannah in the eye.

“Even if the stalker didn’t kill your mother, if I can make a reasonable case that the same man who followed her is following you, I may be able to convince the FBI to get involved. Then we’d have access to their databases and their expertise, and our chances of finding this guy increase dramatically. As it stands, there’s no one down in Virginia actively searching for him.”

“What if the FBI fires you as soon as we get back?”

He shrugged. “I still have friends in the bureau.”

She fiddled with her spoon, breaking eye contact. “I suppose you’ll be moving back to wherever you came from.” He didn’t answer for so long she finally looked up. He was watching her.

“Is that what you want?” he asked quietly.

She gave a harsh laugh. “Since when does it matter what
I
want? For all I know you’re married with two kids and dog named Elvis.”

The waitress appeared with the coffee and the check. Neither of them said a word. John handed the woman a credit card and proceeded to dump cream and sugar in his coffee. He took a few sips and then pushed the mug aside and folded his arms across his chest.

“If I were married, my wife would sure be pissed that I’ve been making love to a beautiful woman.”

“Not if you told her you were just using the other woman to get your father out of prison.”

Something flashed across John’s eyes that Hannah couldn’t quite get a hold of. Oh God, did it mean he really was married? In the next second he pushed back his chair and asked if she was ready to leave.

She nodded and stood, feeling more unsettled than she had all day.

John clicked his cell phone shut and stared at it in the dim light. Hannah slept fitfully on the other side of the glass doors, which she had closed without a word as soon as they’d gotten in. It was early, not yet nine o’clock, but they’d both struggled through the day on almost no sleep.

They needed to be rested when they went back to the inn in the morning.

He propped a down pillow against the headboard and sat back on the bed with his eyes closed, still reeling from what he’d just learned. It had been dumb luck, really, that when he’d called the Marblehead Police Department he spoke to a woman who’d been a clerk there for thirty-one years and remembered Officer Ronald Geer.

“Sure, I remember Ronnie,” the woman had told John. “Good-lookin’ boy. Didn’t last long, though.” He asked her why. “Quit the force after they convicted Sam Daly for murdering that woman. I don’t think he believed the guy was guilty. Ended up going to law school.”

John asked if she had any idea what Geer had done after law school.

“Last I heard,” the woman had told him, “he went to work for the FBI.”

He came to her in the middle of the night and snuggled up behind her. When she didn’t protest, he rolled her toward him, wrapped her up tight in his arms, and they fell asleep like that. At some point before dawn, his need for her overpowered his need for sleep, and he began a long, slow seduction that started with him gliding his hand up and down the leg that was thrown over his, slipping it under the hem of her flannel nightgown and caressing her hip, her bottom, her back. Still half-asleep, she began to move against him, but he took his time undoing the tiny white buttons that ran from her neck to her waist, sliding her panties down her thighs and stroking her wet heat while he licked and sucked her nipples. When she cried out, begging him to come inside her, he rolled her under him and plunged inside, the slow seduction giving way to a hard, urgent coupling.