Her face got warm. She wasn’t accustomed to being spoken to this way.
“So let’s talk about this malpractice lawsuit,” Smolleck said, not waiting for an answer. “Are you aware of any threats against your mother from Ryan Cole’s family?”
“I’m not, but have you asked her?” She didn’t like that he was getting to her, causing her to respond irritably to his questions. He was on their side, she reminded herself.
“The lawsuit unsettled your mother quite a bit, didn’t it? I understand she resigned from her medical practice shortly after the trial was over.”
Aubrey pulled the wool collar of her sweater away from her neck. It was too hot in here. She should have changed clothes when she arrived.
Smolleck was staring at her with his damn iridescent eyes.
“My mother and her fiancé decided it was a good time for her to retire.”
“That’s right,” Smolleck said. “Her fiancé. Jonathan Woodward. He’s being considered for the Supreme Court nomination. Tough to have two strong careers in one family. Is that why she resigned?”
Was he trying to bait her again? She didn’t answer.
“You’ve met him, I assume,” Smolleck said.
“Jonathan? Of course.”
“And you like him?”
“Very much.”
“Did your mother ever mention that he has any enemies? Anyone they were concerned might be upset if he was appointed to the Supreme Court?”
Aubrey glanced out the window at the thick jumble of trees, then turned back to him. She had assumed Ethan’s kidnapping was a random child abduction or someone trying to get at Prudence Simmer’s money. It hadn’t occurred to her that it might be politically motivated. “You think someone kidnapped Ethan to get at Jonathan?”
“Do you think that’s a possibility?”
“I suppose, but I don’t have much to offer you on that. My mother never mentioned any concerns to me. Wouldn’t it be better if you asked her or Jonathan directly?”
“Good idea,” he said. “Moving on. Judge Woodward went to Columbia Law School right around when your mother and father were undergraduates there.” He tapped the pen against his chin. “Is that where your mother met him?”
“No. They met in Miami a couple of years ago.”
“Did your father know the judge at Columbia?”
“I have no idea,” Aubrey said. “Did you ask him? And what does this have to do with Ethan?”
“What’s your relationship with your father like?”
His questions whipsawed her. It was clear he was trying to catch her off guard. But about what?
“My father and I aren’t close.”
“Since the divorce?”
“That’s right.” Her mouth was dry. She needed some water.
“How often do you see each other?”
“Not very.”
Smolleck glanced at the yellow pad again. “Your father does quite a bit of work for Innocence Projects around the country. Has he made any professional enemies that you know of?”
“I doubt it,” she replied. “My father gets innocent men wrongfully convicted of murder off death row. He’s a hero. Everyone loves and admires him.”
“Except you.”
He had once been her hero, too. “Can children ever stop loving their parents?” she asked, more of herself than of Smolleck.
“I suppose you don’t like his girlfriend.”
“No, I don’t. May I ask where you’re going with these questions?”
He leaned back in the chair. “Did your father know about Ethan?”
“I’m not following you. Know what about Ethan?”
“That your mother was back in your brother’s good graces and Ethan was coming to spend a few days with her.”
“I suppose,” Aubrey said. “Kevin probably told him. But why is that an issue? What difference does it make if my father knew Ethan was here? It’s not like he kidnapped his own grandson.”
Smolleck sat forward and held the ends of the pen with his index fingers. “So who do you think took Ethan?”
His direct question took her aback. She picked up the photo from the desk.
One tooth missing and a big grin on his face.
One tooth closer to being an adult, but still a child. And here she was, unable to protect him. “I wish I could tell you that.”
She got up from her chair and put the photo back on the shelf with the others. Back where he was surrounded by family and loved ones.
At least she could do that for her nephew.
CHAPTER 7
Diana made it to the bathroom just in time to retch into the toilet. Nothing came up but bitter bile. She heaved again and again, until finally the nausea subsided, but not the sharp pain in her gut. She put her head down on the cold tile floor.
For the past six years, what she had wanted most was to be part of her grandson’s life. Now that she had finally gotten to hold him and kiss him and smell his sweet hair, someone was threatening to harm him.
Unless she murdered her fiancé.
She sat up and looked again at the note in her hand.
WE HAVE ETHAN. HE IS SAFE.
Focus on that. Her grandson was alive. He was safe.
She studied the small paper in her hand, probably from a notepad. She turned it over.
you have until midnight tues. if we don’t have physical proof of jonathan woodward’s death, ethan will die.
if you talk to the cops or fbi, ethan will die.
Ethan will die.
She gagged on another wave of nausea. Kill Jonathan, or Ethan would die.
And there was no one she could turn to for help.
She got up from the floor and caught her face in the mirror, pale and haggard. Her hands shook as she turned on the faucet and filled a cup with cold water. It spilled on her chin and chest as she drank.
The note had fallen to the floor. She picked it up and put it back inside the greeting card. The picture of a little boy on a red tricycle jumped out at her, this time its significance registering.