The girl tugged at her earlobe, the one with five dots of metal in it, and the top of her shoe rose slightly, indicating she was curling her toes.
Stress…
“I was asleep earlier, for a while. Yeah. I wasn’t feeling good. But then I woke up. I had a dream. I don’t remember what it was, but I think it was scary. I woke myself up with a noise, kind of moaning.
You know how that happens?”
“Sure.”
“Or shouting. Only…” Her voice faded, she was squeezing her ear again.
“You’re not sure it wasyou making the noise? It might’ve been somebody else?”
The girl swallowed. She’d be thinking that the sound had perhaps come from one of her dying family members. “Right.”
“Do you remember what time?” The TODs were between six thirty and eight, Dance recalled.
But Theresa couldn’t remember for sure. She guessed around seven.
“You stayed in bed?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Did you hear anything after that?”
“Yeah, voices. I couldn’t hear them real well. I was, you know, groggy, but I definitely heard them.”
“Who was it?”
“I don’t know, men’s voices. But definitely not my father or brother. I remember that.”
“Tare, did you tell anybody this back then?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “But nobody was interested.”
How on earth had Reynolds missed it?
“Well, tell me now. What did you hear?”
“There were, like, a couple of things. First of all, I heard somebody mention money. Four hundred dollars. I remember that exactly.”
Pell had been found with more than that when he was arrested. Maybe he and Newberg were going through Croyton’s wallet and commenting on how much money was inside. Or was the phrase actually “four hundred thousand”?
“What else?”
“Okay, then somebody—a man, but somebody different—said something about Canada. And somebody else asked a question. About Quebec.”
“And what was the question?”
“He just wanted to know what Quebec was.”
Somebody not knowing about Quebec? Dance wondered if that was Newberg—the women had said that while he was a genius at woodworking, electronics and computers he was pretty damaged otherwise, thanks to drugs.
So, a Canadian connection. Is that where Pell wanted to escape to? A lot easier to get through that
border than going south. A lot of mountaintops too.
Dance smiled and sat forward. “Go on, Tare. You’re doing great.”
“Then,” Theresa continued, “somebody was talking about used cars. Another man. He had a really low voice. He talked fast.”
Used-car dealerships were popular venues for money laundering. Or they might have been talking about getting a car for their escape. And it hadn’t been just Pell and Newberg. Somebodyelse was there. A third person.
“Did your father do business in Canada?”
“I don’t know. He traveled a lot. But I don’t think he ever mentioned Canada…. I could never figure out why the police back then didn’t ask me more about it. But since Pell was in jail, it didn’t matter. But now that he’s out…Ever since Mr. Nagle said you needed help finding the killer, I’ve been trying to make sense out of what I heard. Maybe you can figure it out.”
“I hope I can.”
“Anything else?”
“No, it was about then that I guess I fell back asleep. And the next thing I knew…” She swallowed again. “There was this woman in a uniform there. A policewoman. She had me get dressed and…that was it.”
Dance reflected: four hundred dollars, a car dealership, a French Canadian province.
And a third man.
Was Pell intent on heading north now? At the very least she’d call Homeland Security and Immigration; they could keep an eye on the northern border crossings.
Dance tried again, walking the girl through the events of that terrible night.
But the efforts were useless. She knew nothing more.
Four hundred dollars…Canada…What’s Quebec?…used cars…Did they contain the key to the Daniel Pell conspiracy?
And then Dance had a thought that, surprisingly, involved her own family: herself, Wes and Maggie. An idea occurred to her. She ran through the facts of the murder in her mind. Impossible…But then the theory grew more likely, though she didn’t like the conclusion.
She reluctantly asked, “Tare, you said this was around sevenP.M . or so?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Where did your family eat?”
“Where? The den most of the time. We weren’t allowed to use the dining room. That was just for, like,
formal things.”
“Did you watch TV while you were having dinner?”
“Yeah. A lot. Me and my brother and sister, at least.”
“And was the den near your bedroom?”
“Like, right down the stairs. How did you know?”
“Did you ever watchJeopardy! ?”
She frowned. “Yeah.”
“Tare, I’m wondering if maybe the voices you heard were from the show. Maybe somebody picking the category of geography for four hundred dollars. And the answer was ‘the French-speaking province of Canada.’ The question would be ‘What is Quebec?’”
The girl fell silent. Her eyes were still. “No,” she said firmly, shaking her head. “No, that wasn’t it. I’m sure.”
“And the voice talking about the dealership—could it have been a commercial? Somebody talking fast in a low voice. Like they do on car ads.”
The girl’s face flushed with dismay. Then anger. “No!”
“But maybe?” Dance asked gently.
Theresa’s eyes closed. “No.” A whisper. Then: “I don’t know.”
That was why Reynolds hadn’t pursued the child’s testimony. He too had figured out she was talking about a TV show.
Theresa’s shoulders slumped forward, collapsing in on themselves. It was a very subtle movement but Dance could clearly read the kinesic signal of defeat and sorrow. The girl had been so certain that she’d remembered something helpful to find the man who’d killed her family. Now, she realized that her courageous trip here, defying her aunt…The efforts had been pointless. She was crestfallen. “I’m sorry….” Tears pooled in her eyes.