“Detective Ben Raven, who interviewed Saxon, didn’t believe at first that Saxon couldn’t remember anything, that he’d blanked out, but a blind man could see Saxon’s grief, his depth of feeling for Prevost. We were informed there was no physical evidence that linked him directly to the crime.
“I assume they’re now looking at her former associates but not the ex-boyfriend Saxon told me about. It seems she made him up; why, I don’t know. So far as I know, they haven’t found anyone to build a case against except Saxon. As you can imagine, I’m very worried about my son.”
“Tell me, Mr. Hainny, has anyone approached you?”
Hainny gave a snort. “Of course you’d immediately see everything clearly.” He looked away from Savich, his hands now fisted on his legs. “I wouldn’t be surprised at a demand for money perhaps, but no one has approached me, and it’s been six weeks.” He looked back. “I don’t know what this is all about. All I know is that my son is innocent.”
Hainny stood, looked around the park with unseeing eyes, then gave Savich the barest nod. “Here is his cell number and address. I will tell him to expect you.”
38
CAU
HOOVER BUILDING
WASHINGTON, D.C.
WEDNESDAY MORNING
Sherlock studied the passport photo of a pretty young woman with hair, same color as her eyes, as dark as night hanging loose around her sharp-featured, intelligent face. Brenda Love was twenty-eight and Kara Moody’s other best friend, currently on vacation in Spain. Sherlock had called and introduced herself, told her Kara’s baby had been born, then kidnapped out of the hospital, and asked if she could answer questions.
Brenda Love fell silent. Sherlock heard only street noise in the background, alas, no flamenco music. Love said finally, “How do I know you are who you say you are?”
“I can have Kara call your cell and vouch for me. How’s that?”
Brenda Love agreed. Sherlock had to admit it was exactly what she would have done. She didn’t have to wait long before she was back on her cell with Ms. Love, who told her she was at a sidewalk café across from the Prado Museum drinking a latte. Sherlock envied her. She and Dillon had managed to walk all over the Prado two years before, taking in the power of Goya’s paintings with three-year-old Sean in tow. Sherlock said, “I’m going to email you a photo of a young man. Tell me if you’ve ever seen him before.”
In a moment, Love said, “Got it. He’s good-looking, maybe a bit younger than Kara, younger than me. No, I’ve never seen him before. Why? You think he kidnapped Kara’s baby?”
Sherlock cast her rod into the water. “No, that wouldn’t be possible, he’s currently lying in a coma in the hospital. He’s also the baby’s father.”
Stark silence. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Kara didn’t say anything to me about him.” She sighed. “In fact, she said she couldn’t talk to me, could only confirm you were FBI and she was working with you and it was okay to speak to you.”
Sherlock said, “When we’re done here, feel free to speak to her again, Ms. Love. She needs a good friend right now. The first time Kara ever saw this man was on Sunday, but we’ll get to that later. Ms. Love, do you know Sylvie Vaughn?”
“Well, yes, of course.”
“Do you know many of Sylvie and Josh Vaughn’s friends?”
“Wait a minute, did you show Sylvie his photo? Does she know him?”
Sherlock said, “Yes, I showed Mrs. Vaughn his photo, and she said she’d never seen him before. I understand you weren’t at Mr. Vaughn’s birthday party nine months ago?”
Love gave a rude snort. “I remember that party. I wasn’t about to go, and I remember I told Kara she shouldn’t, either, but she said Sylvie begged her to come so she’d have her own special friend there to support her. Support her, ha! Besides, Josh is a pig. You couldn’t pay me to get near him.”
Sherlock cast a wider net. “Sounds like you don’t much care for Sylvie Vaughn. Or the pig.”
“The pig is a pig and doesn’t try to hide it, but Sylvie’s a phony who lucked into a very lucrative business. Look, Agent Sherlock, I’m not bad-mouthing her for the fun of it. I heard her YouTube phenom—Cycling Madness—was all another woman’s idea, even that cool title, and Sylvie stole it. And no, she can’t prove it, nothing was written down. And yes, that woman is a friend of mine, and that’s why she told me about it.” Sherlock heard a sigh. “I believe her because it fits Sylvie more than not. She’s never been at all pleasant to me.”
“Does Kara know how you feel?”
There was a slight pause. “Well, no, I never thought it was right to lay that crap on Kara, even after my friend told me what she’d done. I wanted Kara to be free to make her own choices, not to have to pick between us. The thing is, Kara’s so wholesome, you know what I mean? She’s serious and always wants to see the good in people, and, well, she’s very nice. I knew it would hurt her. And Sylvie treated her well, so I left it alone.”
Sherlock said slowly, feeling her way, “It seems Kara and Sylvie met by chance at the gallery where Kara worked in Baltimore, that they hit it off right away?”
Love snorted. “Yeah, that’s what Kara told me, and I bought the kismet deal until maybe a month or so after the birthday party, I overheard Sylvie tell one of her satellite friends—you know, one of her social media buddies—that she’d asked this no-style prude who sold her paintings in a third-rate gallery to be on her YouTube fashion show, but she’d turned her down. She laughed, said she’d been relieved. What would you think of a friend who said that?”
Not much. “You didn’t tell Kara what you’d overheard?”
“I probably should have, I mean, this was out of Sylvie’s mouth, so it wasn’t gossip. I’d almost worked myself up to tell her when out of the blue Kara told me she was pregnant. That sidetracked me, to say the least. I asked her who the father was, but she only shook her head, begged me to leave it alone. I wasn’t about to pile on by telling her what a two-faced bitch Sylvie was. And when she made up her mind to leave Baltimore, I couldn’t see the point, it would only add more misery to her situation. Whatever Sylvie was about, you know, being nice to Kara’s face, but talking about her behind her back, she’d be out of Kara’s life.”
Sherlock said, “This is where I need your help, Ms. Love. Kara was drugged at the party. The father is a man she never saw before, a man who doesn’t seem to have been there. Sylvie Vaughn said she didn’t know him, and you don’t know him, either. Kara never said anything to you about it?”
A moment of silence as Brenda Love took it all in. “No, I spoke to her a couple of days later, at lunch. I remember asking her about the party and was really surprised when she told me she must have drank too much and blacked out. Let me be perfectly clear here, Agent Sherlock. I have never seen Kara drunk. And enough booze to black out? She told me she couldn’t remember anything. I should have followed up, but I didn’t. I was breaking up with my boyfriend, and all into myself. I’m an idiot.”
Sherlock cut that off. “Hindsight is always an amazing thing, so don’t beat yourself up. Tell me, was there anyone else you remember in Kara’s life around that time? Before the party?”
“Not really. She didn’t have a steady boyfriend. She occasionally went out, but nothing serious. She led a quiet life. She was really into her painting, of course, and she’s good. Have you seen her landscapes? They’re like stepping into a dream, the colors all wreathed in a misty light.”
“I haven’t had a chance yet to see her work, but I will. Ms. Love, I need you to think back. Can you remember anything unusual that happened to Kara before the party? Any men she might have met, any offer of drugs she told you about?”
A pause, then, “No, I really can’t, Agent Sherlock.”