Jan Burke - Bloodlines

For all the wealth of the Linworths, he thought, she might have been better off if she had been part of the O’Connor family. His own mother had never been as reserved as Lillian, and although Kieran had been difficult to live with, O’Connor never doubted his father’s love. Harold Linworth was as much an absentee father as he was an absentee husband.

Linworth had kept his distance, but he was one of the few. Katy was beautiful and young and spirited, and if she wasn’t rich yet, she was destined to inherit a fortune. So was Todd, although hers would be the larger. O’Connor hadn’t seen much of Katy in recent years, and not at all since she had married Todd, a fact that now ladened him with guilt.

A woman got herself killed, the cop said. How? O’Connor knew that the only way he’d find out anything tonight was if Dan Norton would talk to him.

He thought about seeing Todd’s battered Hudson parked next to Dan’s shiny T-Bird. Was Todd home, then? Was he the one who killed Katy? Had she threatened to divorce him over the mistress?

The wind gusted and the rain drummed against the roof of the car, then subsided back to tapping.

He saw Matt Arden return with a figure who hunched into his raincoat and carried a big umbrella. Dan Norton. O’Connor felt something ease in his shoulders-a tension he hadn’t realized he was carrying. Whatever else was going wrong tonight, the best of the best had been assigned to this case. O’Connor put on his hat. He picked up an old newspaper from the seat next to him and sheltered under it as he got out of the car.

Norton smiled and said, “Jesus, O’Connor, they don’t even pay you news-hounds enough to buy umbrellas?”

“Mine’s warm and dry at home, Dan. Haven’t been there in almost a day, so…”

Dan immediately sobered. “How’s Jack?” he asked, moving his umbrella so that O’Connor was a little drier, and he a little more wet.

“He regained consciousness, at least. Too early to say much, but he seems to have his sense of humor.”

“Good sign. I guess you’ve heard what happened here? Although how you did, I’d love to know.”

“Jack asked me to check on Katy-Kathleen. Just a feeling he had, I guess. I didn’t come here knowing she had been murdered.”

“Kathleen? No-Jesus, Conn, who told you that?”

O’Connor stared at him. “But…”

Matt Arden said, “I believe he misunderstood something Joe said, sir.” He explained what had been said when O’Connor arrived.

“Hell, it’s not Kathleen,” Norton said. “It’s one of the maids. The one that looks after the baby. Nursemaid, I guess they call them… Conn, listen, this is a hell of a mess. Are you here to cover this for the Express?”

“No, but-”

“But nothing. If you are, I can’t say another word to you.”

“Ever?”

“You know what I mean.”

“And you know what I mean. If I know something went on here and I don’t let the paper know about it, Mr. Wrigley would have every reason to fire me.”

“He won’t. Not if you mean the old man. He knows what’s going on himself and swore he’d cooperate. But I have to make sure-he didn’t send you out here to cover it?”

“No. I’m here for the reason I told you.”

“All right. Wait here, and as soon as the lab guys finish up, I’ll come back and tell you more. Right now I’m a little busy.”

“Dan-what’s going on?”

He hesitated, then said, “The baby’s missing. Little Maxwell Ducane. Kidnapped, looks like. But we don’t know where the Ducanes are-any of them.”

“What?”

“They went out on the Ducanes’ new boat, but haven’t come back-they were only supposed to be gone for a couple of hours, but there was fog late last night and this storm came in right behind it, so who knows what they ended up doing? Could be over on Catalina Island, waiting it out. Tried to get them by radio, but no luck. The Coast Guard will look for them, but in this weather-anyway, that’s it in a nutshell. Now sit tight, and I’ll tell you more when I can.”

So O’Connor waited, listening to the rain. He had felt so relieved to learn that it wasn’t Katy who was murdered, but hearing the rest of Norton’s news so soon after that had brought an end to that relief. Mixed with his anxiety for the child was his frustration at only having bits and pieces of information.

The coroner’s van left. Who was she, he wondered, that poor soul who’d been killed just because she worked here?

He caught a glimpse of movement in his rearview mirror, someone coming up the sidewalk. He waited, watching, but no one passed the car. He looked back, but the rear window was fogging up, and between that and the rain, he wondered if he had seen anything more than shadows.

O’Connor stepped out of the car. He tried to see if someone had moved behind the bushes that bordered the walk, tried to peer through the rain, but the wind drove it hard against him. He hurriedly got back inside.

He divided his attention between watching the street and glancing in the rearview mirror, but other than shifting shadows from the windblown branches of the trees, he saw nothing.

Suddenly there was a change in the pattern of the patrolmen’s movements. One of the wooden barricades was moved aside as Lillian Vanderveer Linworth’s chauffeured Rolls pulled up to it.

The Silver Cloud moved slowly past O’Connor’s car, then stopped and backed up, pulling alongside the Nash. He wondered if the police had asked her to come to the house, or if she had decided to see the crime scene for herself. Knowing Lillian, probably the latter-Lillian was never one to be passive. O’Connor didn’t blame her for coming here. He had spent a lot of time standing on the corner where Maureen had last been seen.

The chauffeur stepped out of the car, holding a large umbrella. The wind didn’t make it of much use to him. He was a young man, younger than O’Connor. He made his way miserably over to the driver’s side window of the Nash and waited politely. O’Connor took pity on him and rolled down the window, figuring no one enjoyed standing out in a cold rain.

“Mr. O’Connor? Mrs. Linworth would like a word with you, sir.”

“I’m waiting for someone. May I come by the house later on instead?”

The chauffeur hurried back to ask. O’Connor saw one of the windows of the Rolls open a fraction of an inch. He heard Lillian’s voice, but couldn’t make out what she was saying.

The chauffeur hurried back.

“Yes, sir, she would appreciate that very much. She said not to regard the hour, sir-to come at any time, day or night. I’m to impress upon you-”

“You have,” O’Connor said. “Please tell her that I’ll try not to make her wait up too late. And that…well, tell her I’m sorry to hear of her troubles.” He saw that the chauffeur was getting soaked, umbrella or no. “Why don’t you go back to the car and try to dry off a bit, now?”

He saw a look of determination on the man’s face and wondered at it, until he heard him say, “Mrs. Linworth asks if you have need of an umbrella.”

“Is she offering yours to me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ah, Lily…” He shook his head. “You may tell her, with my compliments, thanks all the same, but I only use umbrellas when it’s raining.”

“But, sir, it is raining.”

O’Connor smiled. “I’m Irish-I don’t even see it falling. Go on. Tell her thanks, but I’ve got my own with me.”

“Thank you, sir.” He hesitated, then added, “If I may say so, sir-she meant well.”

“Not a doubt of it.”

A few minutes later he saw Norton motioning to him. He reached for the slightly soggy copy of the Express again and held it over his hat as he hurried toward the barricade.