Kathleen Creighton - Memory of Murder

Alan let out a gusty breath. “Probably not. But that’s not my only concern. The guy has changed identities before. He has financial resources. If he finds out we’re on to him, we’ll lose him for sure.”

“You really think she’d tip him off?”

“Again-probably not. Not deliberately, anyway. But I have a feeling she’s not a very good liar, not where he’s concerned, and this is weighing heavily on her mind. She could easily say or do something that would make him suspicious. Look-you know I can’t do anything until we get the DNA results showing a sibling relationship between Lindsey and Holt Kincaid. Without that there’s no proof Karen McKinney and Susan Merrill are the same person, and even with DNA we can’t definitively prove the Chesapeake Jane Doe is connected to either one.”

“Come on,” Carl said, “I don’t think you’d have any trouble convincing a jury.”

“Maybe not,” Alan said, “which only makes Merrill guilty of falsifying his identity. There’s nothing to connect him to the shooting of Karen and James McKinney. The only way I’m going to get that is to sweat it out of him, and before I go after him I need more than what I’ve got now. Meanwhile, I don’t want to take a chance on losing him. Partner, I hate like hell to ask you-I know it’s Sunday, but he knows me, he knows my car-”

“Say no more. I’ll sit on him until you can get the captain to assign surveillance.”

“Alicia is going to hate me.”

“Nah, that’s the great thing about her being a cop, too. She’ll understand.”

“Well…thanks, pal. I owe you.”

“What for? Giving me a piece of solving a forty-year-old murder? Shoot, man, I owe you .”

Lindsey was stepping out of the shower when her cell phone rang. She grabbed a towel and picked up the phone with a shaking hand, knowing who it was before she even looked at the caller ID.

“Dad!” she said, as her chest and throat filled up with a lumpy mixture of guilt and grief.

“Lindsey? Where’ve you been, sweetheart? I’ve been trying to reach you for two days.”

“Um…sorry about that.” She tried to laugh, and it sounded like a cry of pain. “I…had my phone turned off most of the weekend. I was-Alan and I went to L.A.”

“In all that rain? What in the world for?”

“We were…uh…we were visiting some friends of Alan’s. Traffic was fine going in, but coming back it got pretty bad, so we stayed over and came on home this morning. I didn’t think about calling. I’m sorry if you were worried, but there wasn’t any reason to be.”

“I know, I know, and you’re an adult and don’t need to check in with your old dad anymore, but…it wouldn’t kill you to give me a call, would it? You’re still my little girl, you know.”

“I know…”

“Lindsey? What’s the matter? Is something wrong?”

“No, no.” Her eyes were shut tight. She struggled with all her strength to hold back tears…make her voice sound bright…normal. She forced a laugh, then sniffed and added, “I just got out of the shower, Dad. I’m dripping here.”

“Oh! Well, for goodness’ sake, don’t catch cold. I won’t keep you, honey. Just glad you’re home safe.”

“Me, too. Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

“I know you are. But I’ll worry anyway. I love you, girlie.” There was a pause, then: “Talked to your mother lately?”

“Not for a few days. I’m going to go see her tomorrow.”

“Okay…well.” There was the sound of an indrawn breath. “Tell her I love her, honey. Will you do that for me?”

“I will, Dad.” She was holding her breath, afraid to breathe, afraid he would hear a sob in it. Her chest felt as though it would burst.

“Well…okay then. Guess I’ll say g’night. Let you get dried off.”

“’Night, Dad.”

“I love you, honey.”

“Love you, too…”

She broke the connection and turned blindly, first one way, then the other, in such agony she wanted nothing so much as to hurl the phone as far and as hard as she could. But of course she didn’t. Instead she pressed the instrument against her forehead, closed her eyes and let the pent-up tears flow freely down her cheeks.

First thing Monday morning Alan knocked on Ron Tupman’s door. The captain sounded surly, as usual, even that early on the first day of a new week, but he listened with his customary laser-like intensity while Alan filled him in on the weekend’s developments in the Susan Merrill case.

“So,” Tupman said when Alan had finished, “you’re telling me Taketa’s been sitting on Merrill’s place all night?”

“Yes, sir, he has,” Alan said. “Didn’t want the man deciding to pull another disappearing act.”

“So, you think his daughter-so-called-might tip him off?”

“I hope she won’t, but…let’s just say I’d rather not take that chance.”

Tupman nodded and picked up his phone. “Well, let’s get somebody out there to relieve Carl.” He drilled Alan with a stare. “How long you figure before you’ll have enough to bring him in?”

Alan considered. “Depends on what Richmond sends me. And the rest of the files from the Baltimore detective-Faulkner. Unless there’s something there we all missed, I’m probably going to have to wait for the DNA.”

Tupman nodded. “We’ll take it a day at a time. Somebody’ll be on him as long as needs to be.”

“Thanks,” Alan said, then added, knowing he probably didn’t need to, “Unmarked cars-don’t want to spook him.”

Tupman glared at him and punched a button. “Got it,” he said dryly.

Lindsey closed her mother’s front door quietly behind her. Across the tiny apartment she could see her mother on the patio, snipping off spent blossoms from pots of chrysanthemums. It was a chilly, breezy day, and Lindsey was pleased to see she’d remembered to put on a sweater.

“Mom,” she called, “it’s me-Lindsey.”

Susan looked up, and to Lindsey’s relief, her expression changed from alarm and suspicion to a smile of recognition. “Oh-my goodness. Lindsey-how nice!” She waved her snippers at the array of pots on various tables and stands around the patio. “I was just cleaning up these mums-they’re about done for the season, I think. I’m going to plant pansies next. Did you bring me some pansies?”

“I brought you pansies last week, Mom,” Lindsey said, and hastened to add, as a look of uncertainty crossed her mother’s face, “but I’ll bring some more next time I come.”

“Yellow ones,” Susan said emphatically. “I like the yellow ones best. They brighten up the place. Well-” she pushed back her hair with the back of her hand, then pulled off her gloves and laid them and the snippers on the wrought-iron table “-shall we have something cold to drink? See what there is in the fridge. I think there might be some iced tea…”

Lindsey said, “Sounds good, Mom,” and laid the manila envelope she’d brought with her on the table beside the gloves and snippers. “What’s this?”

Already on her way to the kitchen, Lindsey glanced back and said, “Just some pictures I brought to show you.” She felt quivery inside, now that the moment was almost upon her. “Wait a minute, let me get us some tea first, okay?”

She opened the refrigerator, removed a flat of wilted pansies from the bottom shelf and put it on the counter next to the sink, then got two bottles of sweetened lemon-flavored tea and shut the door. She returned to the patio to find her mother staring blankly down at the sheet of paper in her hand. The manila envelope had fallen unnoticed to the floor.

“Mom?”

Susan put out a groping hand, and Lindsey lunged, reaching her in time to guide her into a chair. She pulled out a chair for herself and sat in it, facing her mother. The piece of paper, upon which was printed the copy of the wedding photograph of James and Karen McKinney, now rested on Susan’s knees. Almost fearfully, Susan touched first one face, then the other.