Bloodlines (15 page)

Warren stood up, hastily excused himself, then moved back to the bathroom. They heard him retching, the flush of the toilet, then the sound of water running in the sink. After a while, he came back out.

"Sorry," he said shakily.

He reached for his coffee and drank a little, then pushed it away.

"Are you sure the boat is lost? I mean, couldn't there be a chance they're all right?"

"Yes, of course," Norton said. "We haven't given up hope by any means. The Coast Guard is watching for it. The Sea Dreamer could just be blown off course. We've tried raising her on the radio, but so far, no luck. But then, it could just be that there's some problem with the radio on board."

Warren nodded, then fell silent. He looked at O'Connor. "Why are you here, Conn?" he asked, as if it had suddenly dawned on him that Conn was not a policeman.

"Jack Corrigan asked me to stop by Todd and Katy's place tonight."

"Oh." He still seemed confused. "Will he be coming here, too?"

"No. Jack's not feeling well, I'm afraid."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "Tell him I said hello." O'Connor couldn't hear any insincerity in that, just distraction. Warren suddenly hit upon another explanation for Conn's presence. "Are you here to get a description of the boat for the paper? I think I have a snapshot of it. Maybe that will help."

"I'm afraid, Warren, that I'm here--"

"Oh, you just said--because of Kathleen! Jack and Kathleen are friends. Kathleen..." Tears welled up in his eyes again. "And the baby? What's going to become of that little boy?"

"Mr. Ducane," Norton said, drawing his attention. "Mr. O'Connor assisted me in finding you. I'm afraid there's more I must tell you."

Warren looked at him wide-eyed, anxious.

"Your nephew Max--Todd's son?"

"The baby! Oh my God! They weren't crazy enough to take an infant on that--"

"No, sir."

"I'll take care of him. I will, somehow. My God, I just can't believe that Todd--"

"Mr. Ducane, I'm sorry. There's no easy way to tell you this, but tonight we've learned that the baby has probably been kidnapped."

"Kidnapped?" he asked. Blank-faced again. Disbelieving.

"The child's nursemaid was murdered."

Warren seemed to sway, and for a moment O'Connor thought he was going to pass out. But he steadied himself and said, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I just can't seem to understand. I just--Todd's baby is missing?"

Norton went over it with him at least a half a dozen times. Finally, Warren got past the stage of simply repeating whatever was said to him. Norton kept pouring coffee for him.

"Tell me about your brother," Norton said.

Warren seemed on the verge of tears again. Norton waited while he struggled to regain his composure.

"He's a good man," Warren said in a hoarse voice. "A great brother." Deep breath. "The best. I--I can't think why he would have gone with my parents. It's crazy. They're crazy."

"Your parents?"

He nodded. "But not Todd. Todd's smart. God! I hope it's all some mistake."

But he didn't look as if he believed it could be, O'Connor thought. He looked as if he didn't have any real hope.

"Your brother mention any problems lately?"

Warren seemed surprised at the question. "No, not really."

"I mean," Norton said, "most young couples have problems..."

"Oh."

O'Connor could see him hesitate, trying to figure out what he should or should not say.

He sighed heavily. "I think they have a few. Adjusting to life with a new baby in the house, things like that. But nothing they couldn't work out, I'm sure."

"What about outside of his home life?"

"Todd didn't mention anything to me. My God, he's ...he's...he's on a missing boat, and his child has been taken ...how could any of that be his fault?"

"I'm not saying it is. Not at all. I just wondered who might want to put pressure on him."

"I don't understand."

"Mr. Ducane, I suspect there will be a call or a letter or something of that nature sent to your brother's home, asking for ransom. And I can only believe that this is going to come from someone who doesn't realize that your brother himself is missing."

"I see. Yes. All right. But who could it be?"

"Any enemies?"

"None that I know of."

"Did he mention any strangers coming around, or persons who might have taken an unusual interest in the child?"

Warren shook his head.

"Any work done on the house recently?"

"No... at least ...well, I don't really know. Lillian--Kathleen's mother would have arranged for anything like that." He suddenly sat up straighter. "Lillian! Have you told her ...?"

"Yes."

"Poor Lillian. Kathleen's her only child. My God. My God. What has happened?"

Norton continued to question him, about Todd, Todd's friends, Katy, Katy's friends. How the household staff had been hired. In the end, O'Connor wasn't convinced that Norton had learned much, mostly because Warren Ducane didn't seem to know much about his brother's life since marriage.

When O'Connor dropped Norton off at his car, he reminded him that if they had taken the T-Bird, the seats would have been as damp as the ones in the Nash were, since they still hadn't dried out from having three rain-soaked men in the car a few hours earlier.

"Not to mention all the mud on the floorboards," he added.

"I'll keep that in mind. Now you owe me about five thousand favors to one, but who's counting?"

"What about finding Warren Ducane?"

"Four thousand nine-hundred and ninety-nine. But we'll be keeping an eye on him from now on, so don't expect future credit."

"You suspect him of the kidnapping?"

"No, not really. I don't think he faked that reaction. He was genuinely shocked. But...I don't know. Something's off with that guy. I've got to try to get in touch with the family lawyer, though, because unless his folks have cut him out completely, it seems to me that instead of being split two or three ways, the Ducanes' fortune will now go to one man." He was quiet for a moment, then added, "You sure he was at Auburn's all weekend?"

"I'll ask again--and try to get more details. But Auburn said he had been there since Friday, and he backs up Warren's story about not having a car up there. Auburn's never been one to lie."

"Well, we'll see. What are your impressions of young Warren?"

"He loves his big brother, is perhaps even fond of Katy, and doesn't give a damn about his parents. Little Max was hardly a person to him, and the nursemaid, Rose Hannon, could have been murdered weeks ago for all he ever noticed of her."

"Hmm. You ask me, the parents didn't seem to give a damn about him, either. And young men usually don't get attached to their nephews until the nephews can talk or throw a ball. I'll bet most maids are invisible to everyone but their employers."

"Oh no. They're often invisible to the employers, too. My mother used to work as a maid before the war came along."

"Don't think we feel the same way about Rose Hannon as Ducane does-- some of the other detectives you saw tonight will be making sure we pay attention to Rose's life and not just her death."

**CHAPTER 12

WARREN DUCANE WAS SHAKING. THEY WERE GONE--ALL EXCEPT THE big cop outside.

Why was that cop here? Warren didn't understand any of it.

He was miserable, thinking about Todd. Katy, too, really. He knew Todd thought she was cold, and he felt a little disloyal to Todd for disagreeing with him about that. The fact was, Warren didn't want anything bad to happen to Katy. She had always been nice to him, so he couldn't dislike her the way Todd did.

What had happened?

He thought and thought about this. His parents had never said anything about taking Todd and Katy with them. How like them to be selfish enough to cause the whole family to die because of one of their whims. Warren saw these television shows, with the wise parents who were kind to their children, with the funny little misunderstandings that everyone laughed over at the dinner table, and thought that one day someone ought to tell the truth, write about families like the one he was born into. Selfish fools for parents.

But nothing would be funny about that--he knew that from personal experience.

He felt sick about Todd. Just sick.

And the baby... that made no sense at all. Wouldn't kidnappers make sure someone had money before taking his baby? Todd and Katy were almost broke.

What the hell had happened?

A woman murdered at Todd's house. The baby kidnapped, and Todd maybe out in the ocean somewhere. Katy, too.

It was all wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Never should have happened.

He had spent a week wondering if, when the time came, he'd be able to act shocked when he got the news of his parents' deaths.

He hadn't needed to act shocked at all. The shock was genuine.

Todd. Katy. The baby.

What had he done? What had he done? God, help him--

No, no use asking for God's help. Too late for that, if you made deals with the devil.

His fault. All his fault.

He heard himself make a keening sound, and clapped his hand over his mouth.

He wept for a time, wept until he was exhausted. But still, sleep would not come.

What had gone wrong? It should have all been perfect. Dozens of leading citizens could swear he was at Auburn's house all weekend. He had been playing poker with the goddamned chief of police when his parents were supposed to be out on the yacht--how much more perfect could it be?

Not Todd. Not Katy. Not the baby. Just his parents.

He didn't understand any of it, and he no longer trusted the one person who could explain it to him.

Who could help him?

He thought about Auburn. Auburn's kindness to him.

He had used Auburn to some degree. He was not proud of that.

And now, far too late, he realized that he had been used himself. The thought made him furious--and in the next moment, utterly alone and helpless.

They'd left a cop here to guard him, they said. To make sure he was safe.

To imprison him, they meant. To keep an eye on him.

What did the cops suspect?

He looked at the phone. He thought about making a call. Decided not to. Cops were probably listening in. Or they'd get the phone company to tell them whom he had called.

Probably wouldn't get through, anyway. He would have to wait a couple of days, until the devil he had dealt with came back to town.

Then he would make a call. Just to ask, just to learn if it had just been a mistake. If there was still a cop outside on Monday night, he'd say that he needed to walk down to the drugstore for some cigarettes, find a pay phone, and make a call.

And be followed and then ...no. That wouldn't work.

Besides, he already knew the answer to his questions, didn't he?

He could recall every word of the conversation. The conversation with the devil.

Mitch Yeager.

The offer to loan him money, which--thank God!--he had refused.

The flattery, which of course he fell for--stupid ass!

Then the questions, designed to make him talk more and more about all the things that made him most angry about his parents. Fueled his outrage over long-held grievances that were real enough. Agreed with him that his parents were a pair of selfish drunks. Yeager confiding that his own parents were drunken losers, that he and his brother had saved the family fortunes. Assuring Warren that--just as Warren suspected--Barrett Ducane was ruining the family companies.

"I think you'd do a better job of running them."

"Not me. But Todd could."

"You and Todd together. I could advise you."

"Why would you?"

"I want to invest in your companies." (Your companies! Already making it sound as if he owned them.) "I see the potential. But not if your father is running them."

And then later, asking about the new boat, the Sea Dreamer--a sore subject for Warren, knowing that Katy and Todd were fighting over money and he himself barely scraping by--and eventually a few questions about where it was docked and when his parents would next be going out on it.

And finally those damning words, the words that made him understand things he wished he didn't have to think of now. The story that Yeager would be going away with his wife and the child they had adopted two months ago, spending some time out of town on a quiet little family vacation, but not too hidden away--some place where people would see them, and note they were there. His reassurance that he would be in touch sometime soon. And the hint--more than a hint, really--that Warren ought to think about being away from home over the weekend, should be somewhere that people could vouch for him.

He had known then, hadn't he?