Someone Must Die (23 page)

C
HAPTER
42

Shadows from the sculptures and trees surrounded them. There was an unnatural lightness in the sky as the moon tried to push through the clouds.

“Do you believe Gertrude blew up the brownstone?” Aubrey asked.

Her mother didn’t answer, just continued to stare at the tortured bronze hand in the pond.

“It wasn’t your fault, Mama. You did the right thing. If you hadn’t gone to the FBI, Gertrude or the others in the brownstone might have done much more damage. They might have blown up the library. Think how many more people may have died.”

“Your father used to say that, but I could never forgive myself for my friends’ deaths or that innocent child’s.”

The story explained a great deal, but not everything. Not enough to persuade Aubrey that her mother wasn’t responsible for Jonathan’s death and the attempt on her father’s life.

“Mama,” she said as gently as she could, “you’ve been through a lot of very terrible things. I’m sorry you’ve had to keep this inside all these years. But it’s time to let the past go. Please, tell me, do you know who took Ethan?”

In the dim light, she could see disappointment in her mother’s face. “Oh, Aubrey, do you really believe I wouldn’t have gone straight to the police if I had some idea of who had him?”

Her mother sounded genuine, and her slumped body reflected grief, but Aubrey recognized she wanted so much to believe her mother that she could no longer read her accurately.

Aubrey sat up straighter. She had to distance herself and get to the truth. She had to find Ethan. “I think you know things you aren’t telling me. That you’re protecting someone or something.”

“And put Ethan’s life at risk?” her mother said. “Don’t you know me, Aubrey?”

No, Mama. I don’t
. “Tell me everything that could have led to someone kidnapping Ethan.”

Her mother stared at her tight, interlocked fingers. “I don’t know who took him. I only know it’s someone from Stormdrain.”

“Why?” It had been the question Aubrey had been unable to answer.

“Someone may have seen your father and me as traitors or blamed us for the brownstone explosion and the deaths of Gertrude, Michael, and Gary.”

“Why would they blame you? Didn’t Dad tell your friends at the bar about the deal you made with the FBI to get immunity for everyone?”

Her mother shook her head. “They weren’t at the bar when he got there. Then, once the brownstone blew up, the FBI withdrew the deal. There was too much public outrage to let any of the other Stormdrain members go free.”

“So that’s why they all went into hiding.” Aubrey thought for a moment. “I can see someone from Stormdrain resenting you and Dad for getting off, but it’s just a theory. There’s no proof.”

“The greeting card is proof.”

“How?”

“Because whoever left it wrote my college nickname on the envelope and knew the little boy outside the brownstone rode a red tricycle.”

“Who knew about the tricycle?”

“The police and FBI. I told them what happened.”

“Anyone else?”

“Gertrude saw the boy riding his tricycle.” Her mother frowned. “Maybe someone else was in the brownstone and saw the child from a window.”

Mama was doing something liars frequently did—making up things as they went along—but Aubrey couldn’t tell whether her mother was trying to come up with a cover story or if she was genuinely searching for an explanation. She decided to see where this was going.

“Everyone in the brownstone died in the explosion,” Aubrey said, “except Linda Wilsen, and the FBI confirmed she died in 1980.”

“Linda’s dead?”

“According to Smolleck,” Aubrey said. “Who else knew about the tricycle?”

Mama rubbed the finger where she once wore her wedding ring. “I told your father about the little boy.”

“Dad knew?” That meant her father was the only one alive from Stormdrain who knew everything. Aubrey felt sick. Mama had been leading her on. In a distorted way, her mother may have started seeing her onetime co-conspirator as an enemy. “Is that why you tried to kill him?”

Her mother’s eyes grew large. “What are you talking about? Did something happen to your father?”

Was this an act, too?

Her mother grabbed Aubrey’s wrist. “What happened to your father?”

Aubrey was torn, uncertain whether she was dealing with a pathological liar or a victim of a terrible scam. “He was hit by a car,” she said, watching her mother’s reaction. “He may not survive.”

Her mother brought her hands to her face. “How did it happen?”

“Hit-and-run.”

“Did they see the driver?”

“Yes. She looked like you, Mama.”

“Like me?” She blinked, and Aubrey could see the confusion turn to recognition. “I see.” Her mother ran her tongue over her lips. “That’s why you’ve been so distant. You think I’ve done all these horrible things.”

Aubrey glanced at the statue of the mother with her two dead children. The inscription talked about shattered dreams and ideals. “I don’t want to believe it.”

“Tell me all the evidence they have against me.”

If only Mama could persuade her she was telling the truth. “Someone who looked like you was seen at Jonathan’s building shortly before he died,” Aubrey said. “She drove away in his car after he fell from the balcony. The car that hit Dad was the same make and model. The driver also looked like you.”

Her mother frowned. “Someone is posing as me, making it look like I’ve gone crazy.”

Aubrey studied her mother as a thin ray of moonlight broke through the clouds. Crow’s-feet around her dark eyes. A few silver hairs at her temples. Lips that she sometimes pressed against Aubrey’s forehead for no special reason.

“Who hates you that much?” Aubrey asked.

Her mother got a faraway look. “Gertrude did.”

“But she died in the explosion. They found a piece of her finger, hair, clothes, her glasses.” Aubrey stopped. No vital organs. Nothing that meant she was unquestionably dead. “What if Gertrude escaped from the brownstone? What if she’s still alive?”

“Gertrude. Alive.” The words came out softly, as though her mother were testing them out.

“Did Gertrude know Jonathan at Columbia?” Aubrey asked. “Did she have a reason to kill him and try to kill Dad?”

“She had once been in love with both of them.”

The pieces were starting to fall into place. “But they loved you more?”

“I believe they did,” her mother said.

Was that enough to connect the ghost of Gertrude to Jonathan’s murder, the attempt on Dad’s life, and Ethan’s disappearance?

Aubrey considered the theory she had shared with Smolleck. She had been certain Star was involved, but she had thought Linda Wilsen was posing as Star, seeking to take revenge against Aubrey’s parents for her ruined body. But Gertrude may have had an even stronger motive to destroy Aubrey’s mother and father.

Was Star Matin really Gertrude Morgenstern?

Had Gertrude reinvented herself as a southern belle through surgery and a new veneer, or was Aubrey trying too hard to make the pieces fit?

She looked up at the black space between several shifting clouds. In the darkness, she could see a tiny glimmer. Star had arranged for the babysitter, disappeared around the time of Jonathan’s murder, and had an unsubstantiated alibi when Aubrey’s dad was hit by a car. All that was missing was motive, unless Star was Gertrude, then everything made sense. But other than a theory, there was no way to tie them together.

The star grew brighter.

And then it hit her. Of course Star was Gertrude.

Impostors often left a telltale sign of their true identities. On some level they either wanted to be caught or at least have someone acknowledge the cleverness of their deception. Star Matin was no exception. Her name was the giveaway.

Aubrey felt a powerful wave of relief. Mama was not a murderer. She had been telling the truth.

Then her heart dropped.

Because she knew where Ethan was and what Star was capable of doing to him.

C
HAPTER
43

As they hurried to the car, Aubrey explained to her mother what she had only just put together. She asked her to drive so she could call Smolleck. They weren’t going to be stupid and try to confront a murderer by themselves.

“Where the hell are you going?” Smolleck asked.

“To the time-share where my father and Star are staying,” she said. “Ethan’s probably there.”

“Your mother confessed to taking him?”

“My mother is innocent,” Aubrey said. “Star is behind everything. Like I told you earlier. Someone from my parents’ past is trying to get even. I was wrong about Linda Wilsen, but I was right about Star. Star very likely persuaded the janitor who worked at the mall in Buckhead to tell the FBI he was Jeffrey Schwartz. She knew all about Schwartz and the explosion because Star is Gertrude Morgenstern. Star Matin, Morgenstern. She even used the same name.
Matin
is French for ‘morning.’
Morgenstern
is ‘morning star’ in German.”

“Go on,” Smolleck said.

“The time-share is owned by J. W. Hendrix of Atlanta.” She kept talking as her mother tried to drive through the crowd of people crossing Lincoln Road against the light. “That’s probably Janis Hendrix. Star has a daughter named Janis who lives in Atlanta.” She took a breath. “Janis is probably also the babysitter.”

Smolleck was quiet. Aubrey could hear a police radio in the background. “It’s a pretty big leap,” he said.

“Please,” Aubrey said. “Can you try to get a match between the photo of the babysitter and Janis or J. W. Hendrix with facial-recognition software? Then you’ll know I’m right.”

“We’ll check it out,” he said. “Until we have a confirmation, your mother remains a suspect.”

Their car made it past the crowd, crossed to the other side of Lincoln Road, and picked up speed.

“Park away from the apartment,” Smolleck said. “I’m right behind you. I’ll alert the police and the other teams in case Ethan is in there.” He disconnected from the call.

The neighborhood changed abruptly from crowded tourist destination to a quiet residential quarter. Large, overhanging trees and widely spaced streetlights made the street eerily dark. They rode along with the neighborhood park on their right until they came to a couple of “resident only” parking spots a half block from the time-share. Aubrey told her mother to park. A black sedan pulled in behind them. Smolleck and three agents got out of the car.

Mama was staring out the windshield, her hands clutching the wheel.

“We have to get out and talk to the FBI,” Aubrey said. “I don’t think they’ll arrest you.”

“I don’t care about that,” her mother said. “We need to get Ethan out safely.”

“We will, Mama.”

She and her mother left their car and approached Smolleck, who was on the phone, standing outside the glare of one of the few streetlights. Several police cars stopped at the corner behind them, blocking off the street. No sirens or flashing lights. Nothing to alert Star.

Smolleck finished his call and nodded at Aubrey and her mother. “We’re trying to develop a possible timeline for Star’s involvement with Judge Woodward and your father,” he said. “Can you help me out with a couple of things?”

He believed her?

“We’ve been considering her all along,” he continued, as though he could read the question on Aubrey’s face. “Star left the Ritz around eleven thirty, just after your mother called you and said she was going to Jonathan’s apartment. Did Star know about your conversation with your mother?”

“Yes,” Aubrey said. “Star was with me at the hotel when my mother called. She could have picked up from my side of the conversation that my mother was going to Jonathan’s.”

Smolleck nodded. “After Star left the Ritz, she took a taxi to a shopping mall where we lost track of her.”

“Maybe she changed into a wig and dark glasses,” Aubrey said. “Then she could have gone to Jonathan’s building from the mall and waited outside until she saw my mother leave.”

“I left a little after noon,” Mama said. “She could have called up to ask Jonathan to buzz her into the private elevator. He would have thought I’d come back.”

“Wouldn’t he have recognized it wasn’t your voice?” Smolleck asked.

Mama shook her head. “Back in college, she could walk like me, talk like me. She had a real gift of mimicry.”

“If she was disguised as my mother, Jonathan may not have realized who she was when she got up to the apartment. Star and my mom are about the same size. Once inside, if he recognized his mistake, she could have turned a gun or knife on him, forced him out to the balcony, and then pushed him over.”

“Possibly,” Smolleck said. “How would Star have known about his car?”

“Jonathan always left his car keys on the front foyer table,” Mama said. “She could have grabbed them and driven away.”

“Then returned to the time-share in Jonathan’s car and run over my father,” Aubrey said, thinking it through.

“It’s still circumstantial,” Smolleck said.

“Just like your case against my mother.”

He rubbed his eyebrow. “Well, the tactical teams have been alerted in the event Star is involved and has Ethan in the building with her. It may take a little while for the Hostage Rescue Team to get here, but we’re coordinating with the local police and have our own negotiator.”

He believed her. But relief was quickly replaced by fear of what was to come.

Aubrey looked down the half block at the time-share. Although it was dark outside, the lights in every window of the small residence were off. Was Star even in there? Was Ethan?

“You’ve met Special Agent McDonough.” Smolleck gestured toward one of the three agents that had gotten out of the car with him. He’d been at her mother’s house. A balding, middle-aged man with tortoise-framed glasses and a gentle face. “Special Agent McDonough is trained in hostage negotiation. He’ll try to start a dialogue with Ms. Matin to ascertain if she has Ethan and what she wants.”

“So you’re not convinced she kidnapped Ethan?”

“Convinced enough to request tactical-team backup.” Smolleck turned from her to take a call.

Aubrey watched as heavily armed officers emerged from vehicles, spreading out around several small buildings.

“Which one is the time-share?” her mother asked.

“The mustard-colored one with the hedges around it.”

Her mother shook her head. “I don’t like this. Star may be at a window watching all of this.”

Mama was on her same wavelength. What if Star reacted to all the law enforcement like a cornered animal? Would she take it out on Ethan?

Aubrey stepped closer to Smolleck. He was turned away from her, but she could hear his side of a phone conversation. “We got the floor plan of the building,” Smolleck was saying. “It’s wood-frame construction with stucco over lath. Two one-bedroom apartments on the second and third floors, one one-bedroom apartment, and a garage on the first floor. The building is owned by Time-Share Dreams but doesn’t appear to have been rented out or occupied in the last couple of years. We’re pretty sure there are no civilians in the building, aside from the suspect and little boy, and possibly the woman who took him from the carnival.” The person on the line said something else. “Good,” Smolleck said. “Did you speak with her boss?” He listened for a while. “Okay, thanks,” he said, then disconnected from the call.

“What’s going on?” Aubrey asked.

“We got a confirmation on the facial-recognition software. Janis Hendrix is a match with the babysitter.”

It wasn’t a surprise, but Aubrey felt a twinge of edginess. They were homing in.

A large dark van pulled up in the street near them. Agent McDonough opened the side door and climbed inside. There were two men sitting at the front. Aubrey could make out electronic equipment, a narrow table against one side of the van, and a couple of chairs. McDonough sat down on one of the chairs and put on headphones.

“I’ll need the two of you to move outside the perimeter,” Smolleck said to Aubrey and her mother. He gestured to where the police cars had blocked off the street.

“What do you mean?” Aubrey said. “Won’t we be able to listen to your conversation with her?”

“No,” he said.

“But my mother and I may be able to help. We know this woman. We have some idea of how her mind works.”

He glanced at McDonough, who was watching them from inside the van, perhaps waiting for a signal from Smolleck.

“Please,” Aubrey said. “Let us help.”

Smolleck filled his cheeks with air, then blew it out. “Okay. Go on in. You can listen, but you mustn’t speak under any circumstances.”

Aubrey and her mother stepped into the van. Smolleck followed, then closed the door after them. He leaned against the narrow table where McDonough sat, while Aubrey and her mother stood in the small space. The two men in the front were involved with what seemed to be communications equipment.

Mama looked pale and wobbly, as though she might pass out. Smolleck must have noticed. He gestured to the other chair, and Mama sat down with a grateful nod.

McDonough pressed a button on one of the machines, and a phone somewhere began to ring.

Aubrey was startled by the sudden clarity of Star’s voice coming through speakers, as though she were in the van with them. “Yes?” Star said.

“Ms. Matin, I’m Special Agent McDonough of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

“Hello, Special Agent McDonough,” she said in her soft southern voice.

“I would like to speak with you,” McDonough said. “Are you comfortable having a conversation over the phone?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good,” he said. “Is Ethan Lynd in there with you?”

Star hesitated. “He is.”

Mama let out a tiny sound. Smolleck glared at her.

“Ethan’s in there with you,” McDonough repeated. “Very good. Is he in good health?”

“For the moment.”

Aubrey glanced at her mother. Her eyes were wide with distress.

“May I speak with him?” McDonough asked.

“No, I’m sorry. That’s not possible.”

“I understand,” he said. He pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Who else is there?”

Star didn’t answer, as though she were considering what to say. “My daughter,” she said finally.

Smolleck nodded.

“I see,” McDonough said. “Your daughter is in there with you and Ethan. Anyone else?”

“No.”

“Well, you have certainly gone to a great deal of trouble, Ms. Matin. Tell me what it is you want, and let’s see if we can work something out.”

“Thank you, Agent McDonough. I appreciate your solicitude. For starters I will ask you to please have your agents and the police move away from my building,” she said. “And let me warn you, if anyone tries to storm it, I will kill Ethan without hesitation.”

Aubrey clasped her hand over her mouth.

McDonough exchanged a look with Smolleck. The overhead lights showed beads of perspiration on McDonough’s forehead.

“I will have the agents and police move away, Ms. Matin,” McDonough said.

“Thank you.”

Smolleck spoke in a low voice into his phone, then nodded at McDonough.

“They’re moving away from the building, Ms. Matin,” McDonough said. “Now before we continue our conversation, please let Ethan come outside.”

“No,” she said.

McDonough pressed a button that probably disabled the mike on their end and took a deep breath. Then, he pressed it again. “Okay, I understand, Ms. Matin. So tell me what it is you want.”

“Justice,” she said.

“You want justice,” he repeated. “Justice for what?”

She was quiet for a long time. “Justice for what, Ms. Matin?” McDonough asked again.

“Something you’ll never be able to remedy,” she said finally.

“We can try, Ms. Matin,” McDonough said.

“Can you change the past?” she asked.

“What about the past would you like to change?”

“Maybe Di can help you with that.”

McDonough’s head swung around so he could look at Smolleck, who was scowling.

“Who is Di?” McDonough asked.

“Diana Hartfeld Lynd.”

Smolleck fixed his eyes on Aubrey’s mother.

“I see,” McDonough said. “But it would be helpful if you told us, Ms. Matin.”

Star was silent. Aubrey listened for background noises and could make out a humming sound, like one from the air conditioner. She wondered whether Star was in the downstairs apartment. Where were Ethan and Janis?

Smolleck had written something on the pad that was on the table and pushed it over to McDonough to read.

“Ms. Matin,” McDonough said. “Are you Gertrude Morgenstern?”

Star let out a little laugh. “Gertrude Morgenstern is dead.”

“Do you blame Diana Lynd for her death?”

“I do.”

Her mother made a small noise.

Smolleck brought a finger to his lips and frowned.

“Is Di there with ya? Far out.” Star’s voice had changed from its southern accent to something coarser. “Hi there, Polly.”

Smolleck tilted his head at Mama.

She scribbled on the pad, and Aubrey leaned over to read it.
Gertrude’s nickname for me.

Smolleck nodded at McDonough to continue.

“Ms. Matin,” McDonough said, “what is your relationship to Gertrude Morgenstern?”

Star gave a little cough. “Star was born when Gertrude died,” she said, back to her southern drawl.

“I don’t understand,” McDonough said. “Please tell me what that means.”

The van was silent, except for the magnified sound of Star’s breathing.

“Are you doing okay, Ms. Matin?” McDonough said.

She didn’t answer.

“Please tell me what you want,” he said.

“Di.”

Aubrey tensed. She looked at her mother, but Mama’s face hadn’t changed expression. She had probably been expecting this.

“Please explain that, Ms. Matin,” McDonough said.

“I want to talk to Di,” she said. “Here, in the apartment.”

Mama started to stand up. Aubrey shook her head “no” vehemently.

Her mother wrote something on the pad.

Smolleck read it, made a note on the pad, and pushed it to McDonough.

McDonough nodded. “Ms. Matin,” he said, “we’ll consider letting Di inside to speak with you. But first, you will have to let Ethan leave.”