Кей Хупер - Chill Of Fear

"That," Quentin told him, "is what we're all wondering. There's no sense keeping a record unless you mean to use it. So the question is, what was the plan?"

"Blackmail?"

"Could be. Or insurance in case clout was needed somewhere along the way. Sometimes, knowledge is worth more than gold."

Cullen Ruppe was not, at the best of times, a cheerful man. He worked with horses for a reason: because he didn't like to deal with people. Unfortunately, he hadn't yet been able to find a job that took people out of the equation.

Especially when there was trouble.

"I told you," he said to the cop, "that I didn't go near the main building today. Until you called me up here, anyway." They were in one of the first-floor lounges that was serving as a rather ludicrously comfortable interrogation room.

Hard to feel threatened or even defensive when you were sitting on an elegant sofa with coffee in a silver pot on the table before you.

McDaniel made a show of consulting his notes, and said mildly, "Funny. I have a statement from a witness who saw you up here. In fact, she's pretty damned sure she saw you talking to Ellie Weeks. And that would have been just a few minutes before Ellie was strangled. With a braided leather lead rope from one of the barns."

Cullen kept his face expressionless and his gaze on the cop. He didn't so much as glance at the other two sitting off to the side, though he was keenly aware of them. He'd been aware of them, in fact, long before they'd invaded his tack room at dawn to uncover an old secret.

Calmly, he said, "Your witness made a mistake. I wasn't up here."

"She's sure it was you."

"She's wrong. It happens."

"I haven't been able to place you down at the barns when you said you were there, Cullen."

"Horses don't make for talkative witnesses. Sorry about that."

"Which means you don't have an alibi."

Cullen shrugged. "If you can find a reason for me to have killed that girl — and believe I would have been stupid enough to use one of my own lead ropes to do it — arrest me."

McDaniel ignored that and instead switched gears. "Another funny thing. That trap door in your tack room."

"Tack room's not mine, it belongs to The Lodge. And we both know that door was made a long time before either one of us was born."

"And you've never been down that ladder? Never been down in those caves?"

Cullen hesitated and swore inwardly. Everybody knew about trace evidence these days, about DNA and such. The human body had a nasty habit of shedding skin cells and hairs and God only knew what else with every step.

And something other than God knew he'd gone down into the earth more than once.

He wished he dared look at the two off to the side, wished he dared ask them if they knew what was going on, if they understood. Because this cop didn't, that was plain. He didn't understand, and not understanding could get a lot of people killed, and worse.

Far worse.

"Cullen? Have you been in those caves?"

He couldn't risk an outright lie that might trap him later, and so answered casually, "Maybe a long time ago. I worked here once before, you know."

"Yes, I do know. You worked here twenty-five years ago. You were working here when Missy Turner was murdered."

He'd been ready for that one. "I was. And I was in the training ring working with a young horse all that afternoon and well into the evening. Along with an assistant trainer and two of the guests. The cops found that out quick enough. I didn't even know the little girl had been killed until I heard all the sirens."

McDaniel consulted his notes, lips pursed.

Cullen wanted to tell him to cut the bullshit but, again, didn't dare. He had no way to be sure he was right, not really, not swearing-on-the-Bible sure, and if it turned out he was wrong, well, he wanted a way out of this mess. Alienating a cop — either of these two cops, especially the fed — could turn out to be a mistake. A big mistake.

It was getting late. Late in the evening and just...late. He could hear his watch ticking, and he hadn't worn a ticking watch in years.

"You left The Lodge not long after, I believe."

"Months later."

"After the fire."

Again, Cullen concentrated on keeping his breathing even. Normal. "Yeah. After the fire."

"We never really knew what started that fire," McDaniel mused. "Any ideas?"

"No. Which is what I told the cops at the time. It was obvious they suspected arson, but I'd no reason to burn the place."

"I suppose not. And you left because... ?"

"Because I was ready to move on." He stopped it there and stared McDaniel in the eye defiantly.

The cop didn't blink. "I see. Well, let me ask you something else, Cullen. How well did you know Laura Turner?"

He shrugged. "She was house staff, I was stable staff. We don't mix much now and didn't at all then."

"You'd both been here for several years; are you trying to tell me you didn't know her at all?"

"Didn't say that. Said we didn't mix in those days. I knew her name, knew her to speak to, to say hello. Knew she had a kid. That's about it."

"Did you go to her daughter's funeral?"

That one caught Cullen unprepared, and he had to settle himself before answering evenly, "All the staff went."

"Just a matter of paying your respects, I guess."

"Yeah. Yeah, it was like that."

McDaniel nodded, and as if it had been a signal, the fed left the silent redhead's side and came to sit in the other chair across from Cullen.

"Still paying your respects?" he inquired casually.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you do, Cullen. On a hunch, I asked Captain McDaniel to check something for me before we called you up here. And it turns out that the caretaker at the cemetery definitely noticed your visits. Once a week, ever since you came back to work at The Lodge. You visit Missy's grave, and you leave a single flower there."

Some hunch. Some goddamned hunch, Cullen thought.

He found himself gazing into a pair of extremely sharp blue eyes, and debated silently before deciding once again to hold his peace. He couldn't afford to be wrong, couldn't take the chance they'd lock him up before this was finished.

Because it had to be finished. This time.

Still, he had to say something, had to at least appear to cooperate, else they'd lock him up anyway. Part of the truth, he thought, was better than none.

"Okay, so I pay my respects. So I knew Laura Turner and her daughter a bit better than I let on."

He could see he'd surprised the fed, and pressed his advantage to lead the "conversation" in the direction he wanted it to take.

"I knew that little girl didn't belong here. Never should have been here. And sure as hell never should have died here. There's nobody from this place ever visits her. The caretaker told me that. So I visit. And put something pretty on her grave."

Slowly, the fed said, "What do you mean, she never should have been here?"

Cullen hesitated visibly, striving to look reluctant. "I overheard something, okay? Something that made me realize Laura's own little girl had died — and she had stolen Missy away from her rightful parents."

The silent redhead moved suddenly, leaving her chair and coming to join Cullen on the sofa. Her face was pale, those green eyes anxious, and when he turned his head to meet her gaze, Cullen felt an instant, surprising certainty.

So that's it. That's why she's here. He felt his heartbeat quicken and had to fight once again to remain calm.

"Are you sure about that?" she asked unsteadily. "Sure she had been abducted from her real parents?"

"Sure enough."

The fed said, "Missy never said a word to even hint that Laura might not be her real mother."

Cullen managed a shrug. "She wasn't but about two when Laura took her. By the time you came here that summer, I imagine she'd forgotten she belonged anywhere else."