Buried Sins (17 page)

Z
ach leaned back in his chair, leveling a gaze at Rojas, the senior of the detectives. The past hour had been an exercise in futility since Caroline left, surrounded and supported by friends and family.

Not by him. He’d done what he could for her, but it hadn’t been enough.

Doubt had been growing in him throughout the endless afternoon. If you followed the rules, you got the right result. That was what he’d always believed, but it didn’t seem to be working out that way this time.

Where is the truth in this, Lord? Help me to find it, whatever the cost.

“Let’s stop the posturing, Rojas. It’s pretty obvious you don’t have anywhere near enough evidence to charge Ms. Hampton in Decker’s death. What’s this really about?”

Williams, the younger man, opened his mouth for what would probably be another jab at hick cops, but Rojas waved him to silence.

“Go out there and get the dispatcher to give you a cup of coffee.”

Williams gave him a mutinous look, but he went. When the office door closed behind him, Rojas spread his hands wide.

“Okay. Here’s the truth, or as much of it as I can tell you. Tony Gibson was involved in a scam worked through a series of charity auctions at the gallery where Ms. Hampton was employed. Someone at the gallery had to be involved, and she seemed the obvious suspect.”

“
Obvious
isn’t always good enough.”

A slow anger simmered inside him. If Rojas was content with the obvious, the truth would never come out.

“True,” the man admitted. “We don’t know how long this was going on. The people involved aren’t ones to run to the cops if they think they’ve been defrauded. More likely to write it off or hit up their insurance company.” He shrugged. “You figure they’re smart enough to handle fortunes, but seems like they check their business sense at the door when it comes to these fancy society affairs. The Carrington name means something in those circles.”

“That’d be Francine Carrington’s late husband?”

Rojas nodded. “Carrington had a heart condition. That seems to be common knowledge. He died, and the widow kept up the charities he’d started. Everybody found that admirable. Just lately, though, Carrington’s kids from his first marriage have been making noises about the merry widow.”

“You knew she came to see Ms. Hampton,” he said slowly. “That’s why you’re here.” If the detective was suspicious of a woman in Mrs. Carrington’s position, he wouldn’t want to raise the wrath of his superiors by leaning on her. “You figured it was safer to lean on Ms. Hampton than on her.”

Rojas looked affronted. “Hey, don’t tell me it doesn’t work the same in your little corner of the world. Some people you just can’t jump in and accuse, not if you want to come out with your job intact.”

He thought of Keith Morris. “It’s better to risk that than to harass an innocent person.”

“Well, now, we don’t know that Ms. Hampton is innocent, do we? She could be involved, could be the one who faked the pieces. Or maybe she knows something. There has to be a reason why those two women are here together.”

The anger was coming to a boil now. It wasn’t his case, the sensible side of his mind insisted. It was his jurisdiction, though. His obligation to find the truth.

“You decided Ms. Hampton was the weak link. You figured if you leaned hard enough, she might break.”

“It works, more often than not,” Rojas said.

“Not when you’re leaning on an innocent woman.” A woman who deserved better than she’d ever gotten from the law he and Rojas both claimed to represent.

Rojas’s brows lifted. “Sounds to me as if you’ve gotten involved with the woman.”

Zach shoved his chair back. “I’m going to get some air. Feel free to use my office.” He slammed out before he could say something he’d regret.

The day had slid away while they were arguing. Dusk was drawing in. Unease trickled down his spine.

Caro was safe. Of course she was. Her family would protect her. So why did he have the urge to drive over there, just to be sure?

He shouldn’t approach her now, not when she was part of an ongoing investigation conducted by another department. Doing so could cost him. He had to follow the rules on this one.

But maybe following the rules wasn’t good enough. His job was a small sacrifice in exchange for the truth. Or for Caroline’s safety.

Driven by a need stronger than anything he could explain, he slid into the cruiser and pulled out.

Voices penetrated the darkness, forcing Caroline’s eyelids to flutter. She didn’t want to wake up. She couldn’t. Her head hurt. She wanted to lie here quietly….

But she wasn’t in her bed. Hard wooden boards beneath her, not a soft mattress. And the voices—

“You shouldn’t have hit her that hard.” Francine, but a Francine who sounded different. “We’ll never find it without her help.”

There was the sound of something heavy sliding along the floor. Her mind began to function. The apartment. She’d been leaving, going back to the house. Now…she opened her eyes a cautious slit.

Now she lay on the barn floor, amid the boxes the movers had brought in this morning. Francine had one of the boxes open, hauling things out and holding them up to examine in the dim light.

“…don’t see why I had to hit her at all.” It was a voice she struggled to recognize. “You should have offered to help her unpack and sort things out, like any good friend would.”

He stepped into the light. Jason Tenley. The photographer. Except that he obviously wasn’t. Why was he here with Francine?

“And what if she found it first?” Francine’s tone was waspish. “You should have made sure you had it before you killed Tony.”

The words penetrated, and Caro gasped. A tiny sound, but they heard. They were on her in an instant, the man hauling her to a sitting position. The movement sent pain shooting through her head. She struggled and realized her hands were tied behind her back.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Francine leaned over her. “Think, Caroline. Where would Tony have hidden something of value? Something quite small. It has to be here. We’ve looked everywhere else.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Which was the truth, and better than any lie she could imagine. “What are you doing, Francine? Who is he?”

Francine didn’t bother to answer the questions. She surveyed Caroline for a moment. Then, before Caro could guess her intent, she slapped her.

“Think,” she demanded. “Where did he hide it? Help us, or my brother might have to do to you what he did to Tony.”

She could only gape at the woman. Her friend. The person she thought she knew. She hadn’t known Francine, any more than she’d known Tony.

“Shut up, Francine.” The man, Tenley, if that was really his name, smiled pleasantly. “You talk too much.”

“It doesn’t matter what she hears now.” Francine turned on her. “Help us, if you want to go on living. We’re not leaving here without it.”

They didn’t intend to let her live in any event. She knew that as surely as she’d ever known anything. That was what Tenley meant. Francine wouldn’t talk so freely in front of her if she was going to let her live.

Tenley intercepted her gaze. “Yes, she really is my sister. Half sister, at least.”

“You’re not a photographer.” Think, keep them talking. Don’t sit here and wait for them to kill her.

“Just an honest insurance investigator. Until I ran into my dear sister, and she suggested that there was far more money to be made by skirting the law a little.”

Francine gave a low sound that might have been a laugh. “You were never honest, whatever else you were. Stop chatting. We have to find it. If she won’t help us—”

The menace in her voice sent a surge of energy through Caro. She wouldn’t be a helpless victim. “I’ll help you. I know what should be in the boxes. But you have to tell me what I’m looking for.”

Francine frowned at her for a moment. Then she came to Caro, bent over and fumbled with the bonds at her wrists. “All right. You’re looking for a pill vial. Find it, and you might get to go on living.”

“And do be careful, my dear.” Jason Tenley waggled the thing that was in his hand. A gun, small and deadly. “I’d hate to have to use this.”

No, he wouldn’t want to use a gun. They’d want it to look like an accident, like Tony’s death. Or even suicide. Widow, depressed over her husband’s death, under suspicion herself, decides to end it all. That made sense.

She stumbled to her feet, rubbing her hands together and then grabbing the nearest box. She had to think.
Please, Lord, help me think. Show me what to do. Someone could come looking for me at any moment. Walk in the door and face a man with a gun. Please, help me.

She felt her control slipping as she pulled things from the box and took a deep breath.
Draw near to God, and He will draw near to you.
The words seemed to steady her.

Please, Lord. Let me feel Your presence. Show me what to do.

If Zach came—she didn’t doubt Zach’s ability to handle Tenley. But Zach wouldn’t come. Zach thought she was guilty.

Be with me,
she prayed again. She opened another box, this one containing clothing, and began feeling carefully in the linings and pockets. Her hands felt stiff and cold.

“Something so small could be anywhere,” she said, needing to hear the sound of a voice. “Why do you need it?”

“You don’t want to know the answer,” Tenley said, leaning against a stack of boxes, the gun drooping.

“What does it matter?” Francine tossed aside a file folder that was probably from Tony’s desk. “She’s the reason all of this fell apart.” She turned on Caro, face twisting with anger. “You never even realized, stupid little idiot. You didn’t know what you were saying when you told Garner the one thing that showed I was playing his wealthy friends for suckers.”

“I did?” She could only stare at Francine. “I hardly knew Garner. He died the night of that first charity event, right after I came to work…” Her voice trailed off.

Her first event. She hadn’t been working at the gallery for more than a few weeks, and she’d been so eager to do well. Garner Carrington, tall, courtly, distinguished, coming into the gallery unexpectedly looking for his wife. He talked to her, probably seeing how nervous she was, and she’d babbled about whatever it was Francine had her working on. He’d already been suspicious, or something she’d said had tipped him off. Francine must already have been substituting fakes for the real donated objects.

“Yes, you.” Francine stalked toward her, fury filling her face. “I never planned to harm Garner. I just wanted to make sure I came out of that farce of a marriage set up for life. You’re the one who forced the issue.”

Horrified, Caro could only stare at her. Garner’s heart attack, that very night. Francine, the grieving widow, mourning that if only she’d gone to his bedroom sooner, she’d have found him in time to help.

But she could only be this frantic to find a pill vial if it were somehow evidence that she’d killed him. And the only way it could have come into Tony’s possession—

“Tony knew.” The words came out before she could suppress them. Tony had known and done nothing.

“Tony knew.” Francine shrugged. “We were having a little fling, Tony and I. Nothing serious, but he was coming to the house that night. He was out on the balcony, and he saw me with the pill bottle. He took it. Blackmailed me. If he hadn’t gotten so greedy—”

“This is futile.” Tenley walked between them. Before Caro could guess his intent, he knocked her to the floor. Pain shot through her. Half-conscious, she felt him pull a rope tight around her wrists and ankles.

“What are you doing?” Francine clawed at his arm. “We have to find it.”

“We can’t.” He shook her off. “We’ve played around with this stupid plan of yours for too long. The only solution is to burn the place down. The vial will be destroyed, and your little friend with it.”

“The police—” Francine began.

“The police don’t know a thing,” he said shortly. “I’m going to get the gas cans. Here.” He handed her the gun. “Make sure she behaves.” He stalked toward the door, switching on a penlight as he did. His figure was a dark silhouette in the doorway for an instant, and then he disappeared.

Nearly dark. How long had she been here? They’d come looking for her—Andrea and Rachel would come—

No, Lord. Don’t let my sisters walk into this. Keep them safe. Protect them. Protect me.
She reached out in longing, in certainty, and felt His presence.

She couldn’t be sure how much time passed. She didn’t attempt to talk to Francine. She just waited, wrapped in God’s love.

Footsteps finally, coming back. A dark figure appeared in the doorway, carrying a flashlight. Awareness shot through her. A bigger, heavier torch than the tiny penlight Tenley had carried, surely.

“About time,” Francine said, apparently not noticing anything wrong.

But she would, she’d see—Shoving with her elbows, she pushed herself toward Francine as the fierce beam of the flashlight shot into the woman’s eyes. Francine lifted the gun, arm flying up to shield her eyes. Caro raised her bound feet and aimed a frantic kick at Francine’s legs.

Deafening shots, flashes of light, loud voices. She didn’t know where Francine was. Zach—was that Zach’s voice?

The overhead lights went on, blinding her for an instant. Then her vision cleared and she saw Zach, holding Francine in a hard grip. Other men rushing in—the detectives, local patrolmen. And a moment later Zach was holding her, releasing her bonds, drawing her gently into the safety of his arms.

“Now, you sit quietly here on the bench, and you can watch them work on your new business for a while.” Rachel, at her most maternal, guided Caro to a seat on a garden bench that had a view of the barn. “You know what the doctor said.”

“He said I should take it easy for a couple of days,” Caro pointed out. “Not that you and Grams and Andrea should coddle me for the rest of my life.”