The vein in Smolleck’s temple wasn’t pulsing as furiously. “Was she there?”
“No,” Aubrey said. “I drove over and waited, but she didn’t show up. I guess I misunderstood where we were supposed to meet. She may have meant Alhambra Circle or Cocoplum Circle or even Miami Circle Park.” She was explaining too much. Giving more than he had asked for, something liars often did thinking it made them look innocent.
He touched the face of her phone, probably checking her Received and Sent call lists.
She looked back out the window. The blue jay was gone.
He put her phone down on the desk, apparently not finding anything of interest to him. “We’ve put out an ATL on your mother.”
“ATL?”
“‘Attempt to Locate’ bulletin. She’s a suspect in the death of Jonathan Woodward.”
“I assumed you would think so after I told you about the ransom note. But that’s not enough to arrest her.”
“So you’re a lawyer now?”
Her face grew warm.
“Then you probably know that harboring a fugitive is a serious crime.”
“Is my mother a fugitive? Has a warrant been issued for her arrest?”
“Not yet, but we have more than just your report about the note’s existence.”
“You do? What?”
They stared at each other until the vein in Smolleck’s temple began pulsing hard again. “I’m not about to give you information until you start leveling with me.”
“I don’t know how I can help you,” she said. “Are you certain Jonathan was pushed? Could he have fallen accidentally?”
“It’s highly unlikely that it was an accident.”
There was a discoloration in the oak desk where she had once spilled nail-polish remover when she was doing her nails. Her mother had been matter-of-fact about the ruined wood, but Aubrey had been very upset with herself. Would Mama forgive her if she told Smolleck the truth?
“I know you don’t trust me right now,” she said. “I understand why you wouldn’t, but I told you about the ransom note. If you think about it, whoever wrote it was probably more interested in hurting my mother than in killing Jonathan.”
“So why is he dead?”
“Maybe whoever sent the note intended to make it look like my mother killed him. They would know you or the police would automatically suspect her if you were aware of the note.”
“It’s a theory.”
It was. A good one. “My mother is not an impulsive woman,” she said. “I don’t believe she killed Jonathan.” Was she repeating the mantra to convince herself, or did she truly believe it?
Her eyes flitted over the photos of Ethan.
Some she had taken herself, but others she had gotten from her father and brother. She had sent them all to her mother, knowing how much joy she received from the photos of her grandson. There was one of Ethan on a horse, another at Disneyland, and a recent silly one Ethan had taken of himself making an ugly face.
He loved taking selfies and had learned how to send them to her.
Something about the “ugly face” photo stopped her. She got up and took the framed picture from the shelf. Ethan was in the foreground, but behind him was a woman she didn’t recognize. An older woman with gray hair, who was staring at him, her chin pushed forward, her brow in a frown.
“What is it?” Smolleck asked.
“This woman. There’s something familiar about her.”
“You don’t know her?”
Aubrey shook her head.
“Do you know where the photo was taken?”
She recognized the black-leather furniture and a black-and-white painting of a maze that was a favorite of her father’s. “This is my father’s apartment in LA. The photo was taken a couple of weeks ago. I can tell because Ethan was missing his front tooth.”
“The woman could be a neighbor or a friend,” Smolleck said.
“Yes. Probably.” She put the photo back on the shelf. She had the original on her computer where she could study it more carefully. There was so much to do, and here she was using up precious time.
“Anything else you’d like to distract me with?” Smolleck asked.
“Agent Smolleck. My nephew is missing. I’m concerned that Jonathan’s death and looking for my mother has shifted everyone’s priorities away from finding him.”
His shoulders stiffened. “Finding Ethan is our number one priority.”
“Good,” she said, as she headed out of the room. “I’m glad we’re at least agreed on that.”
CHAPTER 33
Aubrey closed her bedroom door behind her. She had just lied to the FBI, but that was the least of her problems. Her mother was definitely a suspect, and Ethan was still missing.
She opened her laptop.
Earlier today, her father had told her he believed someone involved with Stormdrain or the explosion at the brownstone could be connected to Ethan’s kidnapping. He had hinted that he or her mother had played some role in that catastrophe, then denied it.
But Smolleck was also interested in Stormdrain, and Mama had gone off to do something related to her past.
Aubrey googled “Stormdrain, brownstone explosion, April 1970,” and viewed the search results. A few were travel websites, identifying the brownstone as an interesting, off-the-beaten-path place to visit. There were before-and-after photos—the blackened shell of the brownstone in 1970 after the explosion, and a modern, angular building with large windows and a plaque out front. Then there were blogs and articles going back several years about Stormdrain, and a Wikipedia article she decided to read first.
According to the article, Stormdrain had been an American, radical left-wing organization that began in late 1969 on the campus of Columbia University and was briefly a faction of SDS, Students for a Democratic Society, before it broke away. Its goal was to create a revolutionary party for the overthrow of the US government.