Trace of Doubt (13 page)

Chapter 23

C.
C. called me the next afternoon around five o’clock. She was with Lewis at the prison where Dr. Colton was being held.

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“What do you mean?” I was in the lab sifting through more evidence from the cases. Lewis had taken the day off to spend it with C.C. and to go to meet Dr. Colton with her. Mostly, I assumed, they had a lot of things to say to each other.

I stopped what I was doing and sat down at my computer. I clicked onto my Internet connection and pulled down a bookmarked page I had found of Dr. Colton. He was handsome in that country-club perfect kind of way—like a Brooks Brothers model. I wondered what prison was like for him. From surgeon to disgrace.

“He’s a sociopath, Billie.”

“He did it?” Even in the pictures, the surgeon’s eyes were cold and flat, emotionless. He was a man who lost his wife and never shed a public tear. But it was beyond stoicism. He just seemed to feel nothing, as if her death was an inconvenience on his schedule.

“I didn’t say that.”

“So what are you saying?”

Her connection broke up a bit.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“Lewis and I are driving to Nyack. We’re on 9W. Mountain must be blocking my signal.” She cut out again, but came back. “I’ll explain about the doctor. But first, listen to me, the killer’s name is Andrew Colton, the good doctor’s son.”

“His son? But that little boy wasn’t even born when my mother was killed.”

“No, he wasn’t. But his older half brother, Andrew, was.”

I felt a chill pass over me. “What?” I asked hoarsely.

“Dr. Colton is a sociopath, Billie. A very smart one with sadist tendencies. In the trial, one thing that came out was his poor relationship with his wife, the way he would humiliate her. One thing that helped convict him were the magazines he subscribed to. Major S&M and fetish publications. He is very, very controlling. He was literally seething just from my asking him questions. No wonder he was convicted—the jury probably despised him. But he didn’t do it.”

“How do you know?”

“Billie, that man is so arrogant, he would take credit for creating the universe if he thought I’d believe it. Major God complex. I think if he did it, he’d take credit for it. And he would have done it better.”

“Better? C.C., isn’t taking a life in and of itself a God complex?”

“Yes, but it wouldn’t be so sloppy. He would have controlled more.”

“Was the first marriage brought up at trial?”

“No. He left that marriage when the boy was eight, and his ex-wife is deceased. It wasn’t raised.”

“How did she die?”

“According to Colton, she was a suicide.”

“You think that’s true?”

“I have no idea. But we’re doing all this on the fly. Ben has pulled some other detectives in on this. Billie, honey, he is in so much trouble. His lieutenant is furious he’s been doing all this side work. But at least with more manpower right now, we can get information faster.”

“So Andrew is working through his hatred of the father?” My head was swimming.

“I think so. And think about it. When he killed his father’s new wife, framing his father, destroying that family, it was the ultimate, total revenge.”

“But the doctor never suspected his son?”

“Not until I brought up the name. Then you should have seen the rage. This guy is capable of murder. I almost feel it’s frightening that we’re going to clear him…that’s how utterly devoid of humanity he is.”

“Does he have any idea where his son is?”

“None.”

“Wait a minute, there has to be a sister. Where is she?”

“Her name is Mallory Colton. She lives in Nyack, New York. We’ve called her to warn her. And we’re on our way. Ben Sato is meeting us at her place in about two hours.”

“Be careful, C.C.”

“I will.”

“Call me the second you learn anything.”

“I will.”

I hung up the phone and stared at the pictures of the surgeon. He was languishing in prison, framed by his own son. What had the father done to his first family, to his first wife, to arouse such a hatred in his child?

I couldn’t believe the rapid changes in my mother’s case in a few short hours.

Now I had a name. Hopefully soon we would have a face. And a reason and motive.

Andrew Colton.

I wondered if he knew he had left me genetic clues through the years. Traces of unspeakable crimes. Traces of his DNA. Traces of his guilt.

Chapter 24

I
drove home, my cell phone on my lap, waiting to hear from C.C. and Lewis. David had said he was cooking dinner. It was going to be the first meal we’d eaten together in ages, other than shared English muffins at the breakfast counter once in a while.

When I walked in the door, the table was set, candles were lit, and roses were in a vase. Bo came over to me for a pat, and David popped his head out from the bedroom.

“Hello, gorgeous. Bottle of wine on the counter. Pour yourself a glass.”

I walked over to the counter, and next to my wineglass was a small box with a bow on top.

“Open it,” he called out.

I lifted the lid.

It was a diamond ring.

David came out of the bedroom, and I felt him behind me. I didn’t turn as he wrapped his arms around my waist. “I want to marry you, Billie Quinn. I lost ten years of my life, and I don’t want to waste even another second without you by my side. Marry me.” He spun me around.

“Yes,” I breathed.

“I love you,” he whispered, and ran his lips along the nape of my neck.

I shivered slightly. “It’s beautiful.”

“I know you have your mother’s ring, too, but I wanted to get you something that reminded me of you.”

I was still stunned and now looked at the diamond. It was beautiful and heart shaped.

“You have my heart. You had it from the first time you walked into prison and told me you believed me. I knew right then I wanted to marry you, even though I didn’t dare dream of freedom. Of having a life. Of having a woman. I ached for you.”

“Stop,” I said, as a sob escaped me. A happy sob. “Please…I love you.”

“I’m sorry we’ve been out of synch.” He started kissing my tears.

“You could make it up to me,” I murmured. I wrapped my arms around his neck and gave him a lingering kiss. He moved his hands down the small of my back and pulled me closer to him. As always I felt a physical connection between us. I think, when we made love, a part of our hearts re membered his imprisonment and isolation, and so we would connect with that much more intensity, as if to erase that, to heal.

He started seductively biting my ear. And then my cell phone rang. Both of us stopped.

“That’s got to be C.C. They figured out the identity of my mother’s killer. We’re getting close.” I couldn’t believe that the universe was going to operate in such a way that I would agree to marry my lover and solve my mother’s case on one fateful night.

“Answer it,” he said, handing me the phone. “Let’s hope they got this son of a bitch. Then we’ll have double reason to celebrate.”

When I looked at the Caller ID, it said it was my father calling. Before I could answer, it clicked over to my voice mail.

“It’s my Dad,” I said to David, weighing whether to retrieve the message now or not. I figured he was calling to make up with me. Or to try to convince me to call Mikey—my brother and I were on the outs since that night at Quinns. It was the first time since we were teenagers that we were not communicating.

Sighing, I knew it would bother me if I didn’t find out what message Dad had left, but I also knew if he was negative it was going to kill my mood with David. On the other hand, I did have happy news to share. I could just imagine the blow-out party at Quinn’s Pub, and I found myself grinning deliriously.

“You know you won’t be able to enjoy dinner. You might as well call him. And by the way? That smell is a very nice pan-seared tuna steak with lime sauce. Call him.” He kissed me and brushed a stray hair from my face.

David liked to experiment in the kitchen after ten years of prison food—potatoes from a box and unidentified goulash. Right after his release, he’d gained twenty pounds just enjoying all the things he’d missed.

“All right,” I said. “But then dinner and—” I leaned in and kissed his neck “—dessert.”

“You got it, the future Mrs. Falco.” He turned and went over to the stove to check on his creation. I saw him peering into simmering pots and pans. I was never one to cook, so I smiled at the sight of him tending to our romantic meal. I dialed my voice mail.

“Hello, Billie? It’s Daddy. Listen…you won’t believe this, but I’ve got a guy coming over in about a half hour to buy the house. I was working in the yard and he drove by, said he was interested in the neighborhood, did I know any homes for sale. I mentioned I was thinking about it. Anyway, he’s coming here tonight. Serious about making an offer. Said he’s bringing his checkbook. I know you would rather have had me talk about this more with you. Listen…I love you. I love your brother. Let’s get together at Quinn’s on Sunday.”

I frowned as I pressed the button for delete.

“What’s up?” David asked.

“Someone’s making my father an offer on the house tonight. I’m just sad.”

“When did he put it on the market?”

“He hasn’t. Someone just driving by.”

“That’s weird.”

“It happens, I suppose.” Then I looked at David. “You know, someone was in my old treehouse that night. You don’t suppose…”

“Call your dad.” David’s voice was intense.

My heart was pounding. Because I had been at the house essentially snooping for my own father’s DNA, I never told him about the man in the treehouse. My father was vulnerable, and it was my fault.

I dialed my father’s number and someone else answered.

“Hello, Billie.”

“Who’s this?”

“Daddy.”

I gripped the countertop. “Put my father on.”

“I don’t think so. Your father is a little…indisposed at the moment. Come to the house. Alone. I see a cop, your father’s dead before any of you even reach the front door. Remember. Alone. Just you and me, beautiful.”

The line went dead.

“He has my father.”

“Call 911.”

“If he sees police, he’ll kill him. Come on.”

I ran to my hall closet and pulled out my handgun. David turned off the stove, and almost as if of one mind, we left the apartment with barely a word between us and ran down the street to my car.

“You drive,” I told him. “I’m going to make phone calls.”

He nodded, and our tires squealed as we pulled away from the curb. I gave David directions the fastest way to Dad’s, and then called Lewis’s cell phone. I rocked back against the seat slightly, trying to comfort myself and calm down.

“Lewis? I found him. He’s got my father. At Dad’s house. But I can’t call 911 because he says if he sees cops it’s all over. I’m on my way over there.”

“Billie,” his voice was hoarse. “Don’t.”

“I have to. I heard his voice, Lewis. He’s going to hurt my father.”

“I’ve seen his handiwork, sweetie. Don’t.” I heard a thickening in his voice.

“So have I, but I can’t just send squad cars over there, sirens blazing. This guy is smart, Lewis.” I pointed at the exit sign above the highway to David.

“No, Billie…I mean, C.C. and I are here at his sister’s home and she’s dead. I have
seen
his handiwork.”

“Oh, my God. Call Ben.”

“Already have. He’s on his way here. Maybe fifteen minutes away.”

“Well, call him again and send him to my Dad’s. With SWAT.” I had no choice. I prayed the cops would be careful, hidden.

I hung up the phone. “Can you drive any faster, David?” I looked at the speedometer. He was already doing a solid eighty-five miles per hour.

He pressed his foot almost to the floor. I muttered a nearly silent Hail Mary—all those years of catechism coming back to me.

“Lewis said he murdered his own sister.”

“Shit.”

Our tires squealed, and it seemed like we were sliding across the road.

“Hang on, Billie,” he said, grappling with the wheel. I slid in my seat, despite the seat belt I wore.

We careened across the road, and I started talking fast to get us of like mind when we reached Dad’s house. “We’ll both go in, but you stay behind me a little. I have my gun, you take the tire iron from the trunk. Hopefully, as long as he doesn’t hear sirens, he won’t panic. If he’s got my Dad, we just keep him talking. Eventually Lewis and Ben will arrive.”

“I don’t like this.”

“Neither do I. But I feel like I’ve been waiting for this showdown since that night. If he wants a face-off with me, he’s got one. But he’s not going to kill my dad.”

Brakes screeching, we pulled into Dad’s driveway about ten minutes later. No lights were on in the house. We got out. It was a classic summer evening, with thousands of chirping crickets and fireflies glowing as they did their dance across the yard. For a second I thought of Mikey and me, laughing hysterically as we chased the glowing bugs, capturing them and putting them in the empty mayonnaise jar my father had, holes punctured in the lid. My mom would point out the bugs— “There’s one. He’s glowing biggest of all.” Summer nights of laziness and joy. All that had been shattered by Andrew.

I opened the trunk, got the tire iron for David. “Show no mercy,” I told him. “He’s a serial killer.”

David nodded. Then he put the tire iron down for a second on the trunk, and he took both his hands and wrapped one on each side of my face. He kissed me fiercely. “Know, Billie, know I love you with every molecule in my body.”

“Me, too. Let’s do this.”

With a nod, he grabbed the tire iron again, and following behind me, ducking by bushes for cover, we raced up the steps and into the house. I had my gun drawn.

“Dad? Andrew? Dad!” I called out into the darkness. My voice just echoed slightly, bouncing in the silence.

“On three,” I said to David. “One, two, three…” I flicked on the first lights in the house. There had been a struggle in the living room. But no blood, thank God. No sign of Dad, either, though.

Room by room we wandered through the downstairs. When we got to the den, the television was on.

“Jesus Christ,” I whispered.

“What?” David asked.

“The TV.”

The newscaster looked straight ahead at the screen, and David and I were illuminated in the bluish tint of the television light.

“An Amber Alert has been issued in New York and New Jersey for a twin brother and sister. Annie and Josh Barton, who were snatched in broad daylight from their nanny, who was stabbed during the incident.”

The screen went to a montage of images of an ambulance, a woman being wheeled into a hospital on a stretcher, and a house shown with police tape all around it.

“The nanny, Carla Chisolm, is in satisfactory condition at Nyack Hospital, and the kidnapper was seen speeding south on route 9W in a white van.”

The montage changed to two little faces frozen on the screen, a boy and a girl.

Now the anchor’s voice spoke over the pictures, “The first three letters of the license plate are IKL Anyone who has any information…”

“Look at them,” I said to David. I was absolutely frozen in place.

The little boy and his sister could have been Mikey and me on the night my mother was taken from us.

“They look just like you.”

“I know.”

Whatever was going on in the mind of Andrew Colton, he was playing out his fantasies tonight. And he wanted me to be part of them.