The Other Daughter (11 page)

David made the introductions. He was aware of how young and fresh Melanie looked with her un-made-up face and clipped-back long blond hair. They caught Chenney up on the situation. He took a lot of notes, then they took a little field trip across the hall to Brian's room.

It seemed very dark, decorated in shades of forest green and deep burgundy. Brian hadn't lived in the house for ten years, but the big captain's bed carried the clear imprint of someone having sat on it.

“So the subject sneaked up here after the party, made himself comfortable, and waited for lights-out,” Chenney deduced, then ruined the professional image by looking to David for approval.

“You're the cop,” David reminded him with a bit of an edge. The rookie stood straighter, then looked at Melanie Stokes.

“Well, at least he wasn't trying to hurt you, ma'am,” Chenney said.

Melanie was startled. “What do you mean?”

“If the guy was here all night, he could've come into your room anytime. But he waited until you left to make his move. Just look at the candles. Votives are good for about eight hours. They were nearly burned down to the base by two P.M. So we can assume he entered your room after four A.M. — when you had vacated the premises.”

“Thank God for small favors,” Melanie muttered.

Chenney shrugged. “The perp definitely didn't want to have a confrontation with you, ma'am. At this stage, he just wants to do his little displays. So you figure he sets it up while you're gone. Forty-four candles, the horse, the fabric. I'd say it took him at least an hour. So maybe he departed the house around six—”

“He couldn't depart,” Melanie interrupted with a shake of her head. “That would set off the alarm system. Any opening of an external door, whether from the inside or outside, activates the system.”

They all looked back at the bed. “So he set it up, lit it, and went back into hiding,” Chenney said.

“Waited until someone got up and deactivated the alarm.” David filled in the picture in his head and liked none of it. “Then he just sauntered out the front door.”

Melanie was looking shaken again.

“There's another consideration,” David mused out loud. “The subject was already in the house. He/she/it could've chosen any room for the display, but he went to Melanie's room, not her parents'. I'd say that makes you the target, not them.”

Chenney seemed a bit taken aback by this blunt disclosure, but Melanie simply nodded. David hadn't thought she'd mind. From what he could tell, Melanie worried a lot more about her family than she did about herself.

“It's getting late,” she said at last. “I'm surprised my mother hasn't come home as it is, so…”

Chenney took that as his cue. “I'm gonna need an hour or so. You start thinking of a plausible excuse for my presence, I'll start working through the scene.”

“Thank you, Detective.”

“No problem, ma'am!” Chenney left.

Melanie and David were suddenly alone. She crossed over to the large bank of windows, looking out over the Public Garden, where the cherry trees were in bloom and young lovers were walking hand in hand. With the fading sunlight catching her profile in shadows, she looked at once vulnerable and pensive. She looked lovely, David thought. Then he shook the thought away.

“We have a few more questions. You ready?”

“I made my brother cry.”

“He's a big boy. He'll get over it.”

“There is a shrine to a murdered child in my bedroom.” Her voice rose a notch. “It's in my head, David. Dear God, it's in my head.”

She pressed her forehead against the window, as if the contact might chase the images from her mind. She took a deep breath, then another. Her hands were shaking. David watched her weather the storm and didn't do a thing. After another minute she pushed herself away from the window and squared her shoulders.

“Well,” she said briskly in that tone of voice he'd come to know well, “what's done is done. Detective Chenney will take care of everything and let me know what he learns?”

“He'll send the evidence to the lab. See what comes up.”

“Like fingerprints, right?”

David arched a brow. “There won't be any fingerprints.”

“You don't know that—”

“Come on. This guy spent hours staging a scene. He's not going to make a mistake that obvious.”

She looked deflated for a minute, then bounced back stubbornly. “Well, the detective will learn something.”

“Maybe. Look, if you want answers, let's start right now. Lab work isn't everything. Most info comes from interviews, and we have just a few questions for you.”

“You mean Detective Chenney has some questions.”

“Sure, you can wait for Chenney, but he's gonna be in your room for at least an hour. By then it'll be six, your mom could be home anytime …I don't think you want to have this discussion then.”

“Oh.”

David pushed the advantage, not wanting to give her time to think. He strode forward brusquely. “We'll start with the standard drill. Get through it all in a jiffy.”

Melanie still looked hesitant, but in the face of his curt determination, she finally nodded.

“We got a pretty good idea how the person got into the house,” David stated. “Now we need to know why and we need to know who.”

Melanie shook her head. “Other than Larry Digger, I have no idea who would connect my family with Russell Lee Holmes after all these years. My parents don't discuss Texas much.”

“Why not?”

She gave him an exasperated look. “I imagine because it hurts like hell.”

“Twenty years later?”

“Hey, Mr. Reese, when your daughter is kidnapped and murdered, you can get over it in twenty years. My parents haven't.”

David grunted, sufficiently chastised. “Fine. Let's start with the altar, then — it tells us a few things. For starters, this was an intimate act. Not just in your house, but in your bedroom. Not just in your bedroom, but at the foot of your bed. Then there are the items themselves. The pony and scrap of fabric that appear to be from Meagan Stokes, the first daughter. That seems to be a very deliberate slight against you, the second daughter. Then there is the use of scented candles. Do you know much about the olfactory senses, Melanie?”

“You mean other than to smell?”

“There's more to it than that. The sense of smell is directly wired to the limbic system, which is one of the oldest parts of the brain. An important part of the brain too. It's the part that helps you love and helps you hate. And” — he looked her in the eye — “it helps you
remember
. Exposing someone to a strong fragrance linked with a certain time or place is one of the most effective ways to evoke a memory.”

He saw that Melanie grasped his meaning immediately, because she sat down hard on her brother's bed. “The gardenias, the flashbacks. It was planned, wasn't it? Shit. It was
exactly
what the person wanted.” She suddenly sounded furious. “I will not be manipulated in my own house. I will not!”

David regarded her curiously. “Did you say flashbacks? As in more than one?”

She looked cornered. “Fine, fine, I'd been starting to see little things. Not much. A black void, a little girl's voice. Nothing substantial.”

“Uh-huh. When did it start?”

“I don't know. Six months ago.”

“Six months ago. Of course.”

“Of course?” Now she was scowling. “What do you mean, of course?”

“I mean six months ago was right about when your brother announced he was gay. Six months ago was right about when Boston's most perfect family started to fall apart.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Caterers gossip,” David said offhandedly. “Think about it. The Stokeses move to Boston, adopt a new daughter, and for the next twenty years life is just grand, right? Then comes Brian's announcement and things around here start to fall apart. Your father isn't speaking to him, right? Your mom is distraught over the situation and starts drinking again. And you suddenly start having flashbacks.”

“It's not like that,” Melanie protested. “One son coming out of the closet doesn't cause all that.”

“Maybe not in most families,” David said matter-of-factly, “but in a family with the Stokeses' history? Come on. You're a bright person, you can put this together. Your mom and dad have already lost one child. You have already lost a whole family. When your father practically disowned your brother, don't you think it hit all the same triggers? Didn't you and your mom and probably your dear old dad start to feel like everything was falling apart again? Old insecurities, old fears…”

Melanie looked haggard. “Jesus Christ,” she whispered. “Why don't you just fucking cut out my
heart
?”

“I'm not trying to cut out your heart. But someone is trying to get you to remember.”

“But why? Who?”

“Someone who knows what happened to Meagan,” David said. “Someone who could recover the toy she had with her the day she died. Someone who knows enough about you, Melanie, to realize that the scent of gardenias would trigger a memory of Meagan.”

Slowly Melanie nodded, following his train of thought. “Larry Digger,” she said savagely.

“No. Larry Digger doesn't know shit. If he had proof, he'd already have written his story and sold it to the highest bidder. He wouldn't be messing around with votive candles.”

“Russell Lee Holmes?”

“Executed and buried. Come on, you know who I'm talking about.”

She was immediately defensive. “No, I don't! My family has nothing to do with this!”

“Larry Digger alleged that there was more to them than met the eye—”

“Larry Digger is a drunk!”

“Larry Digger knew them in Texas, which is more than you can say. Why was your father in the ER the night you were found? How is it that you can remember Meagan Stokes? You gotta have some connection with Russell Lee Holmes, and according to Larry Digger, your parents know that. Your parents didn't adopt a random little girl, but the daughter of Russell Lee Holmes.”

“
That makes no sense
!” She'd risen off the bed. She was nearly nose to nose with him now, and neither one of them backed down. “My parents loved Meagan! They would not adopt the daughter of her killer!”

“
How do you know
? How
do you know
?”

He thought she was going to hit him. Maybe she thought she would too. The air had gotten too hot and too tense. Then her gaze dropped to his lips, and the air became tangled with other, unwanted emotions. Her lips thinned. She drew back furiously.

She said in a cold voice, “All right, David. Let's do it your way. My beloved parents really conspired to adopt Russell Lee Holmes's daughter. Maybe in a sick and twisted way they felt he owed them a child. I was drugged so I wouldn't remember where I had come from, and my father stayed in the ER, and
voilà
, everything went as planned. I got my new family, they got a new daughter. Everyone's happy. Right?”

“Yeah?” David was suspicious. He didn't think for a moment that she believed any of this.

“Then,” she continued relentlessly, “twenty years later, they magically do what? Suddenly announce the truth? Or even more outlandish, plant an altar in my room in the dim hope that I'll remember and figure out who I am and what they did? Come on! First you're saying they conspired to adopt a killer's daughter, then you're saying they conspired to reveal their conspiracy. Give me a break.”

David frowned. He said grudgingly, “That doesn't make much sense.”

“No kidding.”

“Unless—”

“No!”

“Unless it's just one person trying to reveal the truth. Think about it. Six months ago this whole family was turned upside down. There's a rift between your father and brother, a rift between your mother and father, and even tension between you and Brian. It seems to me that family loyalties and dynamics are shifting as we speak. Maybe that's the key. Maybe the last six months finally gave someone incentive to come forward with the truth of what happened all those years ago. It gave someone incentive to call Larry Digger. How about that?”

Melanie looked mutinous, she didn't have a quick retort. The last six months had changed everything, and she knew it.

“We should run through all your family members,” David said.

“No.”

“You do it with me or you do it with Chenney. Your mom could come home at any time.”

“You know, you can be a real son of a bitch.”

“Yeah, but I'm the son of a bitch who noticed when you were being dragged out of your own house by a seedy-looking stranger. And I'm the son of a bitch who came running when you passed out in your hallway. Not too bad for a son of a bitch.”

His voice sounded more belligerent than he'd intended, and Melanie turned away, looking troubled.

“No,” she said at last. “You're not bad.”

He shifted from foot to foot, slightly mollified but also self-conscious. Popularity wasn't in his job description. Results were.

“We're a very private family,” Melanie said after a moment. “My parents have suffered enough. I don't want you to think of them as criminals.”

“I know, I promise to bear that in mind. Now let's start with your father and brother. It's common knowledge that your father has cut your brother from his will. Maybe that made your brother angry, gave him an ax to grind?”

“Brian would not do this. I won't pretend that he and my father have an easy relationship, but if Brian wanted to hurt Dad, he wouldn't use Meagan Stokes — it hurts
him
too much. You saw Brian when he walked into my room. He's even more shaken up than I am. For God's sake, he just saw his little sister's toy from twenty-five years ago. The little sister I know he thinks he failed.”

“He's an intense guy.”

“David, his younger sister was
kidnapped
and
murdered
. He was nine when it happened, which is old enough to understand what's going on but not old enough to do anything about it. Meagan's murder was a traumatic chapter for this family, okay? If they were all perfectly well adjusted after that,
then
they would be odd.”

David didn't comment. Personally he thought the Stokeses were a little beyond odd.