‘Because she can identify him,’ Diesel said.
Meredith nodded. ‘I think so.’
Diesel pulled his laptop from its case. ‘Where do you want to start?’
Meredith crossed her arms over her chest, the feel of the steel between her breasts grounding her thoughts. ‘The social worker,’ she decided. ‘Because she knew what had been happening in that foster home and she didn’t stand up to protect Andy or Linnie. And when the wife was charged, tried, and convicted, she didn’t tell the truth then, either.’
Diesel’s fingers were poised over his keyboard. ‘What’s her name?’ he asked.
‘Bethany Row.’ She took her grandfather’s hand. ‘Thanks, Papa.’
He’d laid back against the pillows, looking suddenly worn and tired. ‘For what?’
‘For helping me refocus. You’ve always done that for me.’
He grunted softly. ‘Maybe Adam will do it for you now.’ One side of his mouth lifted. ‘I got me a girlfriend. I need to call her.’
‘Oh, Papa, I’m so sorry! I didn’t think to call her.’
‘S’okay,’ he murmured. ‘You were a little busy. I called her last night. She’s on her way up here. She’ll be staying for Christmas.’ He opened one eye in challenge. ‘She’s staying in my room,’ he added, like a teenager defying his parent.
Meredith wasn’t able to bite back her smile. ‘You two have your sexy time, old man. I won’t judge, because I’ll be having my own.’
Diesel snorted, then paused his typing to hold out his fist for Meredith to bump. ‘Doc gets one million points for the win. Game over. Please, let it be over.’
Clarke groaned. ‘He’s right. You win, Merry. I give up.’
She bumped Diesel’s fist. ‘I accept your capitulation, Papa. Let’s get to work.’
Twenty-six
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Monday 21 December, 7.35 A.M.
Linnea stood behind a tree on the edge of the school’s property, close enough to hear the parents talking to their children, but far enough away that no one noticed her. They were mostly minivan-driving mommies who appeared frazzled, in a holiday-induced hurry, and annoyed that the school hadn’t started winter break the Friday before.
Must be nice if that’s the only thing you worry about, Linnea thought sourly.
The moms would park in the lot in front of the school and walk their children inside, their child’s hand tightly clasped in their own. Some had babies on one hip. All treated their children like they were precious. Something Linnea had never known.
God, she envied those little kids.
She was so absorbed in wondering what their lives were like that she almost missed the dark-haired lady pulling a toddler out of the car seat in a Toyota minivan.
‘Ariel! Sweetheart, don’t dawdle. I have errands to run this morning.’
Linnea’s gaze jerked to the little family – the mama, the little boy, and the pretty little girl, currently dragging her feet. ‘I don’t feel good, Mommy. Can we go home?’
The mother hefted the toddler to her hip. ‘No. You are going to school, young lady. You’ve been acting oddly all weekend. What’s wrong, honey?’
Even scolding, the woman’s concern for her daughter came through. How could this be his family? He was cruel and hateful. The mom seemed lovely and sweet.
‘Nothing, Mama.’ Head hanging, Ariel rounded the van, shuffling her feet.
‘Ariel? Does this have anything to do with your performance in math class?’
Ariel’s mouth dropped open. ‘But how—’
‘Miss Abernathy called me on Friday to tell me that you hadn’t returned the letter she sent home. I was hoping you’d tell me yourself.’
Ariel’s lips quivered. ‘I’m sorry, Mama. I can’t do that math.’
‘Well, we’re not going to worry about it today. Maybe we’ll ask some of the big kids in church if they’ll come help you with your math over the break. What do you say?’
Ariel blinked owlishly from behind her round glasses. ‘You’re not mad?’
‘No. I wasn’t very good at math either. And your daddy wasn’t mad either. Let’s go inside before we turn into popsicles.’
With a giggle, Ariel obeyed, and they walked together, swinging their clasped hands.
Linnea moved as soon as they were out of sight, approaching the minivan with her pilfered antenna, planning to pop the door locks.
But again she didn’t have to. The door was unlocked. What was this with suburbanites? It was like they felt insulated from crime.
Linnea climbed behind the back bench seat, crouching so that her head was out of sight. Minutes later, Ariel’s mommy came back, toddler still on her hip. She quickly buckled the baby into his car seat, then slid behind the wheel.
Linnea ducked and held her breath, not breathing until the woman had started the engine and they were off.
Now what? She could conceivably crawl toward the front if she could roll over the bench seat without being seen, but that seemed unlikely. Or, she could fold down one of the seats and crawl over if she were very quiet. Or . . . She smiled as Ariel’s mommy popped a CD in and choir music exploded from the speakers.
Perfect. Five minutes later, once the woman was on the highway, aggressively singing along, Linnea pulled the release lever for the smaller seat section, caught the seat as it popped forward, and quietly lowered it. Then she slipped from her hiding place, threw herself between the captain seats and grabbed the woman’s phone off the center console.
She had the phone pocketed before the woman gasped in fear.
‘Don’t do anything stupid, ma’am,’ Linnea said quietly, showing her the gun. ‘I have nothing to lose, but I don’t want to hurt you or your little boy.’
‘Wh-who are you?’ the woman whispered.
‘Your husband’s worst nightmare. Just drive to your home, ma’am. And don’t try anything, please. I don’t want to hurt your son, but I will if I must.’
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Monday 21 December, 8.45 A.M.
Adam joined Isenberg, Scarlett, and Trip at the small table in Isenberg’s office. He’d showered and changed into yet another clean suit in the locker room while Deacon stood watch outside the door. No one came in or out. Deacon was still pissed at him, but there was no cold shoulder. Deacon wasn’t made that way.
Hell, Deacon was actually pleasant to Adam’s father who’d made Deacon’s life every bit as much a hell as he’d made Adam’s, just in very different ways. For now, Deacon was acting as Adam’s personal bodyguard, watching everyone who passed by with suspicion.
Deacon closed Isenberg’s door and pulled the shades at their boss’s request.
‘I told Detectives Currie and Hanson to come at nine and nine fifteen respectively,’ she said, ‘so we have only a few minutes until they arrive.’
‘Why?’ Trip asked.
‘Because we want our ducks in a row before we let those guys in on any more confidential information,’ Deacon said grimly.
Trip frowned. ‘We think they’re involved. Really?’
‘No,’ Adam said. ‘I don’t think they’re involved. I can’t. But . . . I can’t not. Hell, I still can’t wrap my mind around the fact that somebody has tried to kill me twice now.’
Trip’s eyes narrowed. ‘Am I a suspect?’
Adam shook his head. ‘Mallory’s rapist was white. So was the shooter last night.’
Trip’s huff was sarcastic. ‘So being black saved me? That’s ironic.’
Adam winced, wishing he had better words. ‘Well, that and the fact that you would have been only nineteen or twenty and away at college when Mallory’s assault happened and you were at Quantico when Paula was killed . . .’ He blew out a breath. ‘I can’t see you hurting anyone like that, but I can’t see Wyatt and Nash doing it either. I just can’t.’
‘That’s what we’re here for,’ Scarlett said. ‘An objective look at all of this so that we can clear our people and bring them back in.’ She drew a breath. ‘That was a hard video to watch, Adam.’