Cry Mercy (31 page)

“If I understood Hayley correctly, it's been since Tuesday.”

“What are you going to do?”

Emme thought it over, then reached for her phone. “I'm going to have the same conversation with the Bryn Mawr police that I had with Detective Stafford this morning. And God help him if he blows me off.”

She unhooked her seat belt and looked out her window before opening her car door and getting out.

“I need to pace.” She left the door partially open. “I'll be back when I've finished my call, but right now, I have to move.”

John Jennings Gardner's home was located on a wide swath of land that faced the Chesapeake Bay and was bordered by a long stretch of marsh on one side and woods on the other. The house was cedar, grayed by salt air and sunlight and wind over the years, and looked as if it belonged on a spare spit of Cape Cod beach. It had two stories and there were two additions built onto the original section. It looked charming and homey and had no trace of pretension, and was probably worth in the millions. Next to a five-car garage that was sided to match the house, three cars were parked: two Mercedes sedans and an SUV.

“You're going to have to promise to let me do the talking.” Emme turned off the engine and glanced across the console at Nick. When he didn't respond, she said, “Seriously, Nick, I need you to cooperate.”

“I didn't argue when you wanted to drive, did I?”

“Please don't make me the heavy here. I put a lot of thought into how I'm going to conduct this. I've spent a lot of time over the past few years interviewing people. I'm good at getting answers they otherwise might not have given.”

“Why don't you just tell me to stay in the car?” The sarcasm was unmistakable. “Forget I said that. For all we know, this guy is a killer. I don't think you ought to just walk in there alone.”

“I was a cop for seven years, Nick. I can take care of myself. This wouldn't be the first time I walked into a situation on my own.”

“I'll bet you were armed then, though, right? You got a gun in that bag of yours?”

“No,” she said. “It's still in the trunk. I'm not a cop anymore, Nick.”

“Well, my point is, there's safety in numbers. But I promise to keep my mouth shut and let you do the talking.”

“Right,” she muttered. She checked her face in the mirror before opening the door. She didn't want the emotional effect of the morning's news to show. She wanted to go into this interview fresh, as if she hadn't just heard that one more donor sibling was missing. There was time enough to deal with that but it would not be her opening here.

“Ready?” Nick asked her, and she nodded. He got out of the car and waited for her before heading for the front door.

They rang the doorbell, and heard dogs barking somewhere in the house. The barking drew closer, and moments later, the door was opened by a man wearing khaki shorts and a Madras button-down collar shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. On his feet he wore bright green flip-flops, and in his arms he held a Scottie dog. Another danced around at his feet.

“Miss Caldwell? Mr. Perone?” he asked.

“Yes.” Emme nodded and the man stepped back into the foyer.

“Jack Gardner.” He put the dog down on the carpet and shook their hands in turn. The dog wagged a greeting with his entire body. “Come on in. I was just having some coffee and scones. Join me, why don't you?”

They followed him to a bright room at the back of the house that overlooked lush gardens. He gestured
to the table, which was already set. “Have a seat. Iced tea? Coffee?”

“Iced tea would be fine, thanks,” Emme told him.

“Same for me, thanks,” Nick said.

Jack Gardner poured and passed the glasses around, then raised a plate of pastries and asked, “Scones?”

When they both declined, he said, “I hope you don't mind if I do. I look forward to the mornings down here, when the house is quiet, the kids are who knows where, and the phone isn't ringing. I love my work, but I sure do love a little time off.” He fixed himself a cup of coffee, then leaned back in his seat and said, “So what can I do for Robert Magellan?”

“Actually, we're here for the Mercy Street Foundation,” Emme told him.

The congressman frowned. “I had a call from Robert Magellan's office yesterday. I was under the impression that I was to meet with two of his people.”

“Robert set up the foundation,” Emme explained, “and he funds it, so yes, we're his people.”

“His foundation to look for missing persons or whatever.” Jack Gardner nodded as if recalling. “It got a good deal of press not too long ago. Interesting concept. Of course, it helps to have that kind of money. Not so many people do anymore. But what does this have to do with me? I'm not missing anyone.” He smiled as if he'd made a joke.

“Congressman Gardner, I don't know exactly how to ask you this,” Emme began. Then she hesitated long enough for him to say, “Please. Whatever it is, it
can't be worse than what I get thrown at me in my press conferences. Go ahead. Just ask.”

“Sir, are you familiar with a fertility clinic called Heaven's Gate?”

He stared at her blankly for a long moment. “Is that the place near Mount Penn?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “I went to law school there, you know.”

“We know.”

Jack Gardner rubbed his chin. “What's all this about, Miss Caldwell?”

“Congressman Gardner, did you ever hear the term ‘donor siblings’?”

He shook his head. “No, I don't believe I have. But I have a feeling you're going to explain it to me.”

She did.

“Donor siblings, eh? That's a new one on me. What is it these kids want?”

“They know who their mothers are, they know their mothers' families. But for some of them, half the picture isn't enough. They want the other side of the picture filled in as well. They want to feel complete.”

“They want to know who their father is.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So what you want to know is, am I your Donor 1735?” He touched his napkin to the corners of his mouth. “That's what you're asking me. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here.”

“Yes. That's what I'm asking you, Congressman.”

“I guess you can find out easily enough,” he said, “so there's no point in me trying to deny it. Yes, I did
in fact make several donations to Heaven's Gate back when I was in law school.”

He took a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. “I know, I know. Nasty business, this smoking. Can't seem to break the habit. I've cut way back, but I just can't seem to cut it out completely. Back when my wife was still alive, I wouldn't dare light up in the house, but since she passed away—cancer, three years ago—there doesn't seem much of a reason not to. The kids aren't here so much these days, so most of the time, there's no one around to nag me.”

He struck a match and lit a cigarette, then rose and opened a drawer in the sideboard. He returned with a small ashtray, which he placed on the table.

“So where was I?” He inhaled, then blew the smoke out slowly.

“You were saying you'd been to Heaven's Gate…” Emme reminded him.

“Right. Kathleen and I were married when we were sophomores in college. By the time I got to law school, I had two children and not very much in the way of income. Several of the guys I knew were steady donors, doing it for the cash, and of course, the clinic liked to be able to brag about all the lawyer-goods they had to sell. Christmas rolls around, and I'm thinking, hey, why not? So when one of my buddies went, I went along with him, and it turns out to be easier than I thought it would be. We had a pretty decent Christmas that year, as I recall, and the rent was paid on time.”

“So you made a few more donations.”

“Right. You could say I was a steady contributor there for a while.” He took another drag on the cigarette,
then stubbed it out. “Look, I don't know what you think of it, and frankly, I don't care. I needed the money, it wasn't illegal, and while I'm not an especially altruistic person, it did occur to me that what I was doing might lead to something good in someone else's life. So if you think this is going to cause some kind of kerfuffle in the press …”

“Congressman, my only interest is in the children who were conceived by way of your donations.”

“I never thought about them,” he said matter-of-factly. “Never gave a thought to what might develop from those test tubes I filled up, frankly, until you showed up here and told me there were … how many did you say?”

“Ten that we know about.”

“Ten kids.” He smiled warily. “That's a hell of a lot of college tuition.”

“They're not looking for you to ask you for anything. They're just looking for some …” Emme tried to recall Hayley's words. “Some connection. They were just hoping to find out who you are, what kind of a man you are.”

“I like to think I'm a good man, Miss Caldwell. I didn't mean to sound callous a moment ago. But I haven't thought about Heaven's Gate in twenty years. It never occurred to me to think about having fathered any children other than the two I had with my wife. That might sound silly to you. After all, you could say, ‘What did you think they were going to do with all that sperm, Jack?’” He shook his head. “It was a long time ago, and I haven't had cause to think about it since I left law school. I got a job with a good firm in Baltimore, and I never had to moonlight, as it
were, again. It just wasn't something I thought about.” He paused. “But I seem to remember some promise—some guarantee, actually—of anonymity from Heaven's Gate.”

“The clinic didn't give out any information,” Emme assured him. “The kids found a way to figure it out themselves.”

“Really? How'd they do that?”

Emme explained the process.

“Seriously?” he said, in a manner that was both guarded and oddly proud. “Smart kids.”

“Very.” Emme agreed. “Congressman, in January, one of these kids went missing. Since Saturday, three more of your offspring—for want of a better word—have disappeared, one of whom has been confirmed dead.”

“Three this week!” He pressed against the back of the chair as if he'd been shot. “Three? You mean, four, in all … four out of ten are missing? And one dead?”

“That's correct.”

“What are the chances that these kids are runaways, or are on vacation, or are …”

Emme shook her head. “Henry Carroll-Wilson was found shot to death on Sunday morning, and his sister, Lori, is still missing.”

“Maybe she shot him, have you thought of that?” He rose, agitated.

“No, sir.” Emme could have told him that the detective investigating the case had, however. “One of the other girls went missing two nights ago from a field hockey camp. These aren't runaways, and they aren't the kind of kids who'd shoot one another in
cold blood, sir. Someone is targeting these kids, and the only connection between them appears to be you.”

“If you're trying to connect me to all this somehow, I can give you the names of fifty people who will tell you I was at my yacht club on Saturday. Race during the day, dinner dance at night. This other girl disappeared when? Tuesday?”

When Emme nodded, he continued. “On Tuesday morning I took a small group of my colleagues on a fishing trip. We met at five in the morning and returned to the marina at four in the afternoon. We came back here and cooked up our catch. Several in the group stayed the night. The newspapers covered both events, by the way—the thing at the club and the fishing expedition.”

He got up and left the room and returned within minutes with several newspapers under his arm. Wordlessly, he handed them to Emme and sat back while she skimmed the articles. When she was finished, she passed the papers off to Nick.

“Thank you,” she said simply.

“I just thought I'd save you a little bit of time,” he told her, “since I know you'd want to be seeing those photos for yourself.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Look, I don't know what happened to these kids. I won't say I don't care, because that wouldn't be completely true. You never like to hear stories like this. But I don't know them, I've never met them, never heard of them until just now, and at the risk of sounding cold, I don't need to meet them. They were the result of some biochemical reaction years ago,
and despite whatever connection they might feel, I have to admit to feeling none whatsoever.”

“I understand, sir. But I have to ask you to think back over the past few months. Are you sure no one contacted you, no one ever called alluding to being related to you in some way?”

“I'm positive. Believe me, I'd have remembered something like that. But there's been nothing. The first I've heard of any of this was when you showed up here today.” He stood and pushed his chair back. “Now, if there's anything else I can do for you, I'm due on the golf course in about twenty minutes.”

Clearly dismissed, Emme and Nick both stood.

“Should you hear from any of these kids …”

“You're the first person I'll call.” He ushered them toward the door. “Actually, you'll be the only person I'll call.”

One of the Scotties appeared out of nowhere and accompanied them to the front of the house. When they reached the door, Emme reached in her bag and pulled out one of her new business cards. She held it out to Gardner and he took it, and without looking at it, dropped it on a long table that held a crowd of photographs.