Now Kat thought that maybe she heard gentle sobs. She waited. Her mother called only late at night—drunk, slurring her words. The call could consist of many things. There might be sarcasm. There might be bitterness or anger. There was always a mother-daughter guilt trip.
But Kat didn’t remember ever hearing sobs.
“Mom?” she tried again, her voice softer now.
“He died, didn’t he?”
“Who?”
“That man. The one who ruined our lives.”
Monte Leburne. “How did you hear?”
“Bobby Suggs told me.”
Suggs. One of the two lead detectives on the case. He was retired, living not far from Mom. Mike Rinsky, the other detective, had died three years ago, sudden coronary.
“I hope it was painful,” Mom said.
“I think it was. He had cancer.”
“Kat?”
“Yes, Mom?”
“You should have been the one to tell me.”
Fair point. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“We should have gotten together. We should have sat at the kitchen table like we used to do, like we did when we first heard. Your father would have wanted that.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll visit soon.”
Hazel Donovan hung up then. This was how it always went too. There was never a good-bye. There was just a hang-up.
Dana Phelps had been missing a day or two before her son noticed and started to worry. Kat wondered how long her mother could go missing. Weeks maybe. It wouldn’t be Kat who’d notice. It would be Flo or Tessie.
She made a quick call to Joe Schwartz in Greenwich and asked him to e-mail her the ATM video. “Crap,” he said. “I don’t want to get involved. My captain chewed my ass off for taking it this far.”
“I just need the video. That’s all. Once Brandon sees his mother, I think it’ll help calm him down.”
Schwartz took a few moments. “All right, but that’s it, okay? And I can’t e-mail it to you. I’ll e-mail you a secure link. It’ll be good for the next hour.”
“Thanks.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Kat came back out into the living room. “Sorry,” she said to Brandon, “I had to take that call.”
“Who was it?”
She was about to tell him that it was none of his business but decided to go in another direction. “I want to show you something.”
“What?”
She beckoned Brandon toward her computer and checked her e-mail. Two minutes later, the message from Joe Schwartz came up. The subject read: Per your request. The message was only a link.
“What’s this?” Brandon asked.
“The ATM video of your mom.”
She clicked the link and hit the PLAY button. This time, she watched Brandon’s reaction more than the video. When his mother appeared at the ATM, Brandon’s face went slack. He never, not for a second, looked away from the screen. He didn’t blink.
Kat had seen psychos who could channel Daniel Day-Lewis when it came to lying to the police. But there was no way this kid hurt his mother.
“What do you think?” Kat asked.
He shook his head.
“What?”
“She looks scared. And pale.”
Kat turned back and watched the screen. Scared, pale—hard to say. Everyone looked drawn on an ATM surveillance video. The images were often less flattering than DMV photos. You are concentrating on a small screen and trying to push buttons and there is money involved and you are basically facing a wall. No woman looks her best under those circumstances.
The video continued. Kat watched more carefully this time. It did take Dana three tries to get her PIN right, but that didn’t mean much. When the money was dispensed, Dana fumbled with it, but again, those machines sometimes held on to your bills too tightly.
It was when Dana finished up and started to walk away that Kat saw something. She reached out and hit the PAUSE button.
Brandon looked at her. “What?”
It was probably nothing, but then again, no one had studied the video closely. There had been no need. All they wanted to do was confirm that Dana Phelps had taken out the money on her own. Kat hit the slow-motion REWIND button. Dana started walking backward toward the ATM.
There.
Kat had seen movement in the upper right-hand corner of the screen. Something—or someone—was barely there, in the distance. That wasn’t too much of a surprise, but whoever it was seemed to move when Dana did.
The video quality had enough pixels for Kat to close in on the figure, clicking the magnifying glass until the dark dot grew into an image.
It was a man in a black suit with a black cap on.
“How would your mother have gone to the airport?” Kat asked.
Brandon pointed to the guy in the black suit. “He wouldn’t have taken her.”
“Not what I’m asking.”
“We always use Bristol Car Service.”
“Do you have their phone number?”
“Yeah, hold on.” Brandon started tapping his phone. “They picked me up from college a few times, you know, when I wanted to go home for the weekend. Easier than having Mom get me sometimes. Here.”
Brandon read out the number. Kat plugged it into her phone and hit SEND. The answering voice gave her two options. Press one for reservations. Press two for dispatch. She went with dispatch. When a man answered, she introduced herself and identified herself as a cop. Sometimes, this made people clam up and demand proof. Most times it opened doors.
When people are both cautious and curious, curious usually wins out.
Kat said, “I’m wondering if a woman named Dana Phelps recently booked a ride to an area airport.”
“Oh, sure, I know Mrs. Phelps. She’s a regular. Nice lady.”
“Did she book a car with you recently?”
“Yeah, maybe a week ago. For Kennedy airport.”
“Could I speak to her driver?”
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, like, oh, wait. You asked me if she booked the ride to JFK.”
“Right.”
“She booked it, yeah, but she didn’t take it.”
Kat switched the phone from her left hand to her right. “What do you mean?”
“Mrs. Phelps canceled, maybe two hours before the ride. I took the call myself. It was kinda funny, actually.”
“Funny how?”
“She was apologetic, what with it being so late and all. But she was also, I don’t know, all giddy.”
“Giddy?”
“Yeah, like laughing or whatever.”
“Did she give a reason for canceling so late?”
“Kind of. I mean, I think that’s why she was giddy. She said her boyfriend was sending his own black stretch limo to get her. As a surprise or something.”