Goodbye to the Dead (Jonathan Stride Book 7) (26 page)

48

Stride studied the photograph of the opaque black pearl enrobed in twines of white gold. The ring was unmistakable. Once upon a time, Janine Snow had worn it on the third finger of her right hand. He’d seen a photograph of her from a hospital ball a decade earlier, adorned in matching black pearl jewelry and a revealing sequined burgundy cocktail dress. The night of Jay’s murder, according to Janine, this very ring had been stolen from her bedroom by the man who killed her husband.

Then it vanished, never to be found again. And now, like the gun, it was back.

The timing was no coincidence. The gun. The jewelry. Something had happened to bring them into the light.

‘I talked to Pat Burns,’ Stride told Serena and Maggie in his office.

Pat Burns had taken over as St. Louis County attorney from Dan Erickson two years earlier.

‘What did she say?’ Maggie asked. ‘What did the judge decide?’

She sat with her legs dangling in the chair immediately in front of Stride’s desk. Serena sat on Stride’s sideboard with her back against the office wall. The two women in his life avoided looking at each other.

‘He signed off on Archie’s motion and ordered Janine’s release,’ Stride told them. ‘She’ll probably be out tomorrow. The judge ruled that a third party clearly had control over the murder weapon all these years and that the violent history of the gun before and after Jay’s death makes it impossible to sustain the original trial verdict. He agreed with Archie that if the evidence of the gun had been available to the jury back then, Janine would have been acquitted.’

‘So she gets out,’ Maggie said.

‘She gets out. Pat will have to decide whether she can mount a new trial. And whether she even wants to, given the evidence.’

Serena spoke from the credenza. ‘I know you guys don’t want to hear this, but isn’t the most logical explanation that Janine really was telling the truth? Somebody had the gun back then, but not her. Whoever it was killed Jay Ferris and stole the jewelry.’

Maggie looked as if she wanted to argue for the sake of arguing, but then she said: ‘Yeah, Nathan said the same thing. He thinks we were wrong about Janine. I don’t know, boss. I hate to say we blew it, but I think we blew it.’

Stride knew what Cindy would say.
Told you so, Jonny
.

‘Let’s forget about Janine for the time being,’ Serena said, interrupting his thoughts. ‘We’ve got other problems.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning my weird little nerd, Mort Sanders, was on to something,’ Serena told them. ‘Mort was chatting online with a woman named Erin from Grand Forks. He says she was being chased by the same stalker who was involved with Kelly Hauswirth. Kelly was hooked up with a guy who called himself Lakelover, and Erin’s boyfriend was Mattie_1987, but Mort swears they’re the same guy.’

She held up an enlargement of a driver’s license from North Dakota, which showed an attractive blond, just over twenty-three years old, oval face, blue eyes, with a smile that was innocent and sexy at the same time. Stride couldn’t help but notice the similarity between this woman and the Colorado photograph of Kelly Hauswirth. They could have been sisters.

‘This is Erin Tierney,’ Serena said. ‘She’s a dental hygienist from Grand Forks. She’s been missing for at least two weeks. Her Nissan Versa hasn’t turned up anywhere. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.’

‘You think Erin’s the replacement for Kelly?’ Maggie asked.

‘Could be.’

‘Did she talk to anyone at home about having a new boyfriend? Or about taking a trip to Duluth?’

Serena shook her head. ‘No, Erin sounds like a loner, like Kelly. That may be part of the personality type this guy looks for. These girls live out fantasy lives online. In real life, they’re shy. Not many friends.’

‘Two weeks is a long time,’ Stride said. ‘If she was in the city, they may already have smuggled her out.’

‘Or they’ve got her stashed somewhere,’ Serena said.

‘What about these online user accounts?’ Stride asked. ‘Can we trace them?’

‘They’re fakes,’ Serena replied. ‘Their online bios don’t check out at all, but the details match up. I think Mort is right that we’re looking at the same guy. And there’s definitely a Duluth connection. I was able to get the ISP data for both accounts, and all of the logins come from the Twin Ports area. Both sides of the bridge. Whoever this guy is, he’s smart. He hunts for free Wi-Fi and never hooks into the same network twice, and there’s nothing in the pattern to suggest where he’s really located. He could be anywhere in Duluth or Superior.’

‘Have we shut down the two accounts?’ Maggie asked.

‘No, but we’re monitoring their activity. So far, Lakelover and Mattie are both lying low. They haven’t been online in days. In fact, not since Erin Tierney disappeared. Again, I don’t think that’s a coincidence.’

‘Troy still thinks there’s an international connection because of the murder in Amsterdam,’ Stride said. ‘We’ve got data from the night Kelly was killed. The boats in port included four salties outbound to Europe. The
Relko
, the
Venstaat
, the
Ingersstrom
, and the
Pietra Ragazza
. It’s possible they could use lakers instead of salties and transfer the girls elsewhere in the seaway, but the more times they move them, the bigger the risk.’

‘Is there anything suspicious about the individual boats?’ Maggie asked.

‘Not on paper. Chances are, the corporate owners don’t know a thing about what’s going on below deck.’

‘What about recent activity?’ Serena asked.

‘None of these boats has been back in Duluth since the murder. Two of them are due in this week, the
Venstaat
and the
Ingersstrom
. The
Relko
is in Asia and isn’t expected back this season. The
Pietra Ragazza
will return in September.’

‘That makes it likely that Erin Tierney is still in Duluth,’ Serena pointed out.

‘I hope so,’ Stride said, ‘but we also could be wrong about the transport network. Or they could have their hooks into multiple boats. Regardless, you’re right, let’s plaster Erin’s photo all over the city. Same with her car. If she came to meet this Mattie_1987, someone may have seen her.’

Maggie waited until Stride was done, then said: ‘We’ve got another angle working for us, too. The black pearl ring.’

‘Were you able to trace it?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, I talked to Caffy at Zenith Pawn. Once he found out the jewelry was connected to a murder investigation, he started talking. He got the black pearl ring back in May from a Minneapolis accountant named Neal Fisher, who was in town for some Democratic political hoo-hah at the DECC. I talked to Fisher. He was dating a girl, and he bought the ring in Canal Park for her, but before the convention ended, she sent him a Dear Neal e-mail. So he pawned it before he left town. He figured he was making out pretty well, because he didn’t think the guy who sold it to him knew what it was worth.’

‘Where’d he buy it?’ Stride asked. ‘One of the antique shops?’

Maggie shook her head. ‘No, Neal knows a buddy of ours.’

Stride leaned forward. ‘A buddy?’

‘Remember Curt Dickes?’

Stride did. So did Serena. Curt was a janitor at one of the Canal Park hotels, but he also ran an endless series of low-level scams to feed his need for cash. He’d been a pimp hooking up tourists with UMD girls. A petty thief stealing stingray pups from the Aquarium. A scalper of counterfeit Yanni concert tickets. He wasn’t violent, but he was the kind of streetwise kid who would never go straight. Stride had known him since he was fifteen.

‘Curt sold this guy the ring?’ Stride asked. ‘Where the hell did he get it?’

‘That’s what I’m trying to find out,’ Maggie said. ‘Curt’s been under the radar for a few days, but I just got a call. He’s got a new thing going. Duluth ghost tours. I’m going to track him down now.’

‘Good.’

Maggie stood up and headed for the door, but then she stopped. She shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans and blew the bangs out of her eyes.

‘You want to come with me?’ she asked Serena. ‘We could be like Rizzoli and Isles or something.’

Stride saw the surprise in Serena’s face. He was surprised, too. Maybe there was a chance of a thaw in the ice between them. He didn’t know what Serena’s reaction would be, but she wasted no time sliding off the credenza. The two women stood next to each other, short and tall.

‘Okay, let’s go,’ she deadpanned to Maggie, ‘but I get to be Angie Harmon.’

49

It had taken Janine two whole years to stop dreaming about her old life when she fell asleep at night. Her unconscious brain would whisk her back to her mansion on the hill or stand her in scrubs over the open chests of patients in the operating room at St. Anne’s. Even awake, she would find herself making false mental leaps whenever she read a book or a magazine.

I should look for those shoes the next time I’m at Macy’s.

Abruzzo in Italy – that should be my spring vacation.

I need to try the lobster ravioli at Bellisio’s.

Then she would wake up or she would remember: Those things are never going to happen again. Don’t dream, don’t fantasize, because dwelling on what you can’t have will drive you insane.

Except now life had turned on its head again. It was happening so quickly that she was disoriented. Nothing seemed real. She hardly dared to believe it. Right now, she was at Shakopee, and at the same time tomorrow, she would be on the other side of the security doors. She wondered how long it would take her brain to give up thoughts of prison when she dreamed.

‘Will they attempt to try me again?’ she asked Archie on the phone.

‘If Dan Erickson was still the county attorney, I’d say yes,’ Archie replied. ‘With Ms. Burns in charge, I think it’s less likely. The evidence works in your favor now. Assuming they can’t ultimately show that you somehow acquired that gun after it left Chicago.’

‘I didn’t.’

‘Or that you hid it after the murder. Or sold it. Or gave it away.’

‘I didn’t.’

‘Then I think you’re safe, my dear.’

Janine wasn’t so sure.

She could hear the doubts in Archie’s voice. Not about her legal situation, but about her innocence. Her own attorney had never really believed in her. He’d given her a robust defense, but he thought she was guilty as sin. She’d told him over and over that she hadn’t pulled the trigger on that gun. She’d never so much as held it in her hand. Even so, Archie still suspected that she had simply outsmarted everyone else. Like a magician, she’d killed Jay and made the gun and the jewelry disappear. Until now.

Everyone else would think the same thing. She had no illusions about the public opinion of Dr. Perfect. People would still stare and wonder how she got away with it.

‘Welcome to the next chapter of your life,’ Archie told her. ‘What are you going to do with it?’

That was a good question. She didn’t know the answer.

She was accustomed to thinking day to day and ignoring the future. The thought of walking out into the world with no plan terrified her, because throughout her life, she’d always had a plan for everything.

The media would be waiting for her. She’d be mobbed. The release of Janine Snow would be big news. The surgeon murderer set free. She wasn’t ready for the questions they’d shout at her – What do you think really happened to your husband? Will you sue for wrongful imprisonment? – and she had no answers to give them.

She’d asked Archie if he could buy her some time. Get her past the media horde and hide her somewhere. She needed a few days to get her head around the idea of living outside the walls again, and then she could talk to the reporters. She couldn’t avoid the world forever, but she needed time. She needed to get used to different walls.

She would go back to Duluth. That was still home. For now.

Archie would put her up in a hotel. She’d paid enough to earn that treatment from him, at least for a while. She could stare at the waters of Lake Superior and order room service and drink wine. One day, then the next, then the next, until she figured out whether there was anything left to live for.

However, she had one immediate problem that wouldn’t go away. Howard Marlowe.

Howard, bland and boring. Howard, obsessed and driven by desire. This was his fantasy come true. Janine, free; the two of them, together. She’d never actually told him they had no future together, because all that time in prison, she’d had no future to give him. He was her little indulgence, someone to feed her ego.

Howard, Howard, Howard. Nice, unremarkable Howard, writing a book he would never finish, to rescue a woman who would never be in love with him. He would give up everything in his life for her. His wife. His child. When you’re an addict, nothing else matters except your addiction.

She couldn’t hide from Howard. He’d find her. That very first night, he’d be at the door of her hotel room. Probably with flowers, the poor fool. And champagne. Like she’d anticipated that moment the same way he had.

Janine realized that he deserved one night with her. She wouldn’t send him away without it. She’d toyed and played with the man for eight years, and if she let him enjoy his fantasy with her, that wasn’t such a great sacrifice. It was nothing but sex. Years earlier, when he’d showed up on her doorstep during the trial, she’d thought about taking him inside and sleeping with him. If she’d done it, would she be in prison right now?

Okay, Howard. This is what you’ve dreamed about. This is what it’s like to be in bed with me. She could live with that for one night. And in the morning, when she broke his heart, she wondered if he would still think it was worth the price.

*

Howard sat in his basement office, waiting for Archibald Gale to pick up the phone. A classical symphony played while he was on hold. He’d already listened to ten minutes of Beethoven, but Gale’s assistant assured him that the lawyer was anxious to speak with him. That was a big change from the days when he would make five or six calls to Gale’s office without getting a call back.

Finding the ring had changed his status. He would always remember the look of grudging admiration on Gale’s face when he showed him the ring.

Howard wasn’t stupid. He knew that Janine’s lawyer patronized him, full of hollow encouragement for his research. Yes, you keep digging, Howard. Yes, I have faith in you. And then he laughed behind his back. The truth was that Gale had never believed that Howard would discover anything remotely useful to Janine’s appeal.

So it was a triumphant moment to put the ring from the pawn shop in Gale’s hand and say: ‘I did it. I found it.’

That moment had changed everything between them. Suddenly, Howard wasn’t a crackpot, operating on the fringes of the case. Suddenly, Gale had called in an associate and taken Howard’s statement. Gale had clapped him on the back. Joked with him about lawyers and judges. Poured him a shot glass of expensive Scotch and sat and chatted with him as if they were fellow members of Duluth’s exclusive private club, the Kitchi Gammi.

Howard said, ‘Do you think she’ll finally be released?’

Gale, brimming with effervescence, replied, ‘Yes. Yes, this time I really do. Between the gun and the ring, I do.’

‘I always knew she was innocent.’

And then Archie Gale, with the strangest of grins, a little tipsy from his third shot of Laphroaig, said: ‘Yes, yes, innocent. Or exceedingly smart.’

Which Howard thought was an odd thing to say.

But it didn’t matter. It was really happening. Janine would be free tomorrow. He was dizzy with desire. Every nerve ending felt as if it were on fire with anticipation. He swiveled in his office chair and put his feet up on the basement wall and hummed along to Beethoven.

‘Howard,’ Gale said when he finally came on the line. ‘The man of the hour. You heard the news?’

‘Of course!’

‘Well, you definitely played a role in making this happen. Janine and I are very grateful.’

‘Do you know what time she’ll be released?’ Howard asked.

‘I do, but I’m not giving out that information to anyone. I’m trying to keep the media at bay. You understand.’

‘Well, I’m not just anyone,’ Howard told him. ‘I want to be there. To pick her up.’

There was a long silence on the line, and when Gale spoke again, his ebullience had tempered into something cooler. ‘That’s very gracious of you, Howard, but it’s not necessary. I’m handling all the details.’

‘I want to see her,’ he insisted.

‘And you shall see her, of course. Very soon. I’ll talk to Janine, and I’m sure we can arrange a time for her to thank you in person.’

Howard’s fingers clenched around the phone. ‘To thank me in person?’

‘Exactly.’

‘I need to see her tomorrow. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this?’

The politeness vanished from Gale’s voice, and he became a lawyer again. ‘I’ll pass along your wishes to Janine, but when and if you see her is entirely up to her. I know she’s grateful, as am I, for all the hard work you’ve put in on her behalf. But you shouldn’t presume a personal relationship that doesn’t exist.’

‘It does exist,’ Howard snapped.

‘Well, I’ll talk to Janine, and I’ll be back in touch. I promise.’ Then he added, somewhat more kindly: ‘Listen, Howard. Take my advice. People are different in prison than they are in the real world. The two have very little in common. You need to be aware of that.’

‘Just call me back!’

‘Of course. I will.’

Howard spun around in his chair and slammed down the phone. He was disgusted. After all Howard had done on her case, Janine’s lawyer had humiliated him again. As if he were nothing but a groupie. Well, Gale would find out the truth soon. He’d talk to Janine, and Janine would set him straight.

‘You bastard. You worthless bastard.’

Howard looked up and jumped. Carol was there.

‘I didn’t see you . . .’ he began, but his words drifted away. Sweat made a film on his skin. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You’re leaving me,’ she said. ‘For
her
.’

She didn’t phrase it like a question. She didn’t beg him to change his mind.

He could barely look at his wife’s face, but when he did, he saw that her familiar eyes had turned dead. There were no tears. They’d been through tears many times, her crying at night, him pretending to comfort her. There wasn’t even any anger left. She didn’t yell at him. Or curse. They’d been through that, too. She simply stared at him with fish-blank eyes. Her arms hung at her sides. Every emotion, every feeling, had burned down to gray ash.

‘I can’t believe you did this to me,’ Carol murmured.

‘This was never about you. It was about
me
.’

‘Remember that when you see her tomorrow,’ his wife said.