The Night Is Deep (A Liam Dempsey Thriller Book 2) (3 page)

“It appears that she was coming into the kitchen from the hall when whoever it was grabbed her. The edge of the counter has some hair and blood on it too. Looks like the intruder slammed her against it, then carried her out after knocking Owen unconscious,” Sanders said. The two detectives filled in details like a married couple telling a well-worn story.

“Owen said he heard a thump before Valerie screamed,” Liam said.

“Could’ve been anything,” Perring said. “The intruder moving in the kitchen, Valerie being attacked . . .”

“So the intruder must have hit Valerie before attacking Owen,” Liam said.

Sanders shrugged. “That’s what we’re thinking, right Toshi?”

The male forensic tech nodded.

“What was used to gain entry?” Liam asked.

Toshi glanced at Perring, who nodded. “Some type of thin pry-bar, maybe a screwdriver, jammed in at the top of the doors and then in the center locks. They weren’t gentle, no finesse.”

“Thanks. Keep us posted if you turn up anything else. Otherwise send me a report this afternoon,” Perring said. Toshi and the young woman both nodded and returned to their examination of the kitchen. Perring and Sanders moved into the dining room where most of the task force was seated at the table, tapping on computers. Liam followed them, glancing at several screens as he passed. There was a complex city grid on one and a spreadsheet on another. Two of the investigators were on their phones scribbling notes on legal pads.

“Can I speak to you for a moment?” Perring asked. Sanders kept walking across the room.

“Sure,” Liam said, following her to the vacant entryway.

“I just need to establish a few things before we go any further here, okay?” Perring said once she’d pushed the door to the rest of the house partially closed.

“Go right ahead.”

“I’ve been an investigator going on twelve years, before that I was on the road for four. I’ve seen some shit. Right now I’m the lead of my unit and let me tell you, as a woman, that was not an easy position to rise to. Do not think for a second that I’m weak or will let you bully me around. It’s never happened in my career, not for lack of trying on others’ parts, mind you. This is my investigation and if your toenail so much as encroaches on improper conduct regarding this case, I will throw your ass in jail for obstruction of justice. Are we clear?”

“Abundantly,” Liam said.

“That’s good. Hopefully we can work together in a manner that brings Mrs. Farrow home safely.” As Perring turned to open the door, Liam stopped her.

“Just so you know I have the utmost respect for cops, and it basically doubles for women who choose to go into law enforcement. I’m here to help and lend ideas, not to take over.”

Perring watched him, her gaze keen and unwavering. Liam wondered how many confessions had been given under that cold stare.

“Glad we’re on the same page,” she said.

They reentered the dining room and found Sanders standing at its far end.

“So what’s been done so far?” Liam asked as Sanders poured himself and Perring a cup of coffee from the pot that had been set up in the corner of the room. Sanders didn’t offer him one.

“The neighborhood’s been canvassed already, neighbors questioned. No one saw anything, though that’s not surprising. This is a quiet neighborhood; rich, respectable, low incidence of crime. Most of the people around here are in bed by ten p.m.” Perring sipped at her coffee.

“Some of the team is going through a list of anyone in the area who has a record. Peeping Toms, burglary, assault, anyone that might’ve seen this place and gotten ideas about stepping into the big leagues,” Sanders said.

“But there’s been no contact with the kidnapper yet?” Liam asked, moving toward the coffeepot. He picked it up. It was nearly empty.

“Not yet,” Perring said, “but from how everything looks here, I’m betting that it won’t be long before we hear something.”

“Has Owen’s insurance company been contacted yet?” Liam poured a thin drizzle of coffee that barely covered the cup’s bottom. When he looked up both detectives were staring at him. “Sorry, I’ll make another pot.”

“Why would we call his insurance company?” Sanders asked.

“Because Owen ran for the senate awhile back. I’m assuming that when he did he took out ransom insurance. It’s pretty common for public figures. I’d wager he kept it since he’s running for mayor. I would add anyone who was aware of the policy to the list of suspects.” Liam drained the coffee in one swallow, then glanced between the two detectives. “If it were my case,” he added.

Sanders squinted at him, then moved to the closest task force member, murmuring something that Liam couldn’t hear.

“I’d have to disagree on a suspect that was aware of the insurance,” Perring said as Sanders returned.

“Why’s that?” Liam asked.

“Because of the door. If he’d taken his time to do his homework on the couple, I would guess the entry on that set of doors would’ve been cleaner, more calculated rather than messy. Doesn’t fit the profile.”

Liam shrugged. “Only throwing out ideas. Do we know what Owen was hit with?”

“Not yet. It was blunt, though. His scalp was lacerated by something dull,” Sanders said.

“While we’re chatting, how well do you know Mrs. Farrow?” Perring asked.

“Not well,” Liam said. “I popped in unexpectedly a few years ago and she was sitting in the living room. When Owen brought me in there she shook my hand then went upstairs, and I didn’t see her again before I left. From what I understand she has several mental disorders that keep her partially housebound.”

“Severe agoraphobia paired with disabling panic attacks,” Perring said. “Mr. Farrow told us that she hadn’t been out of the house in over two years.”

“You’re kidding,” Liam said. “Owen never let on it was that serious.”

“Apparently only a few people were aware of the severity,” Perring said. “She worked from home as a freelance web content developer and hired a delivery service for groceries and household items. The nearest neighbor said that the farthest he had ever seen her from the house was down on their beach outside, and that was years ago.”

Owen stepped into the room holding his glass, which had been refilled. His face was pale and he moved like arthritis plagued every joint in his body.

“Anything yet?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Sanders said. Liam moved to his friend’s side and gently took the whisky from him as Owen tried to sip from the glass.

“What are you—” Owen started.

“You need to be sharp right now. I’d want to drink too, but this isn’t the time,” he said in a low voice. Owen looked as if he was about to argue, then his face fell.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.”

Liam patted him on the shoulder and shared a glance with Perring as raised voices began to filter in through the front entry.

“I’m her father, goddammit!”

“Sir, I need to check with the lead detective.”

“Get out of my way, son. Now.”

Liam along with Perring and Sanders walked to the front door where a uniformed officer was trying to placate an older man wearing a tweed suit. The man was built like a bull, his shoulders wide and neck thick above his collar. His white hair was falling over his ruddy brow, and his hands were clenched into meaty fists.

“Can I help you, sir?” Perring asked, stepping behind the uniformed cop.

“You can tell me who’s in charge here, lady, and get this punk out of my way before I move him myself.”

“I’m the lead investigator, Detective Perring. Who are you?”

“Caulston Webb. Valerie is my daughter.”

“Let him through,” Perring said.

Webb pushed past the officer on the steps and stopped inside the door. He was shorter than all of them but gave off an air of superiority as thick as the smell of his cologne.

“Well, have you arrested him yet?” Webb asked, turning his heated gaze on each of them.

“Arrested who?” Perring asked as Owen entered the room.

“That bastard Dickson Jenner.”

“Caulston,” Owen said, reaching out to place a hand on the older man’s arm. “Calm down.” Webb shook his son-in-law’s touch off.

“I’ll calm down when that black sonofabitch is in custody, not before!”

“Mr. Webb, you’ll need to control yourself,” Sanders said.

“My daughter was taken, right from this very house, her husband attacked, and you want me to calm down when I know damn well who did it?” Webb’s eyes had taken on a sheen of moisture. His fists opened and closed like beating hearts.

“Who is Dickson Jenner?” Liam asked.

Webb fixed him with a stare and blinked, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “He’s the man responsible for Alexandra’s death.”

“Who’s Alexandra?” Liam said, glancing at Owen who looked stricken and pale.

Webb’s voice dropped to a low growl. “Valerie’s sister.”

CHAPTER 3

They sat in the living room and Liam offered Owen’s hijacked drink to Caulston Webb who accepted it with a grunt before perching on the edge of a chair.

Liam studied Webb, watching the expert toss of his head as he threw back the whisky without so much as a grimace.

“Would you like another?” Liam asked.

“No,” Webb answered, shooting more poisonous looks at them all. “I want my daughter back.”

“We’re putting everything we have into finding her, sir, I assure you,” Perring said.

“Then why the hell aren’t you out busting Jenner’s door down right now?”

“Mr. Webb, we are aware of who Mr. Jenner is and sent an officer to his premises this morning to speak with him. He had a solid alibi for the time period that Valerie was taken.”

“Where was he? Down at that stinkhole bar near his place?”

“As a matter of fact, he was. He arrived at seven p.m. and didn’t leave until closing time. The bartender corroborated his story.”

“And you’re going to believe him? He was probably drunk or in on the whole thing.” Webb’s voice rose and he banged the empty glass down hard on a nearby table.

“Sir—” Sanders began, but Webb cut him off.

“No. I trust you people about as far as I can throw you.”

“Mr. Webb, I didn’t work your daughter’s case and neither did anyone else in this room,” Perring said, her voice taking on an edge that cut the air.

“If I could interrupt,” Liam said, glancing between the two of them. “Sir, if it’s not too difficult for you, could you tell us a little about your other daughter and why you believe this Jenner is responsible for Valerie’s disappearance?”

Webb gritted his teeth and his lips drew back as if tasting something rancid.

“My Alexandra was eighteen when she was taken from me. It was the summer after her graduation and she’d been dating Jenner for over a year. She’d even mentioned marriage.” Webb shook his head. “I told her over my dead body. Of course that only encouraged her.”

“Was your relationship with your daughter strained?” Liam asked.

“No. I loved both my girls and we got along just fine until
he
came into the picture.”

“And by he you mean Jenner?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t approve of your daughter’s relationship with him because he’s African-American?”

Webb’s eyes hardened as he stared at Liam. Liam gazed back, unflinching, waiting.

“She went to a party that August,” Webb continued after a long silence. “She and Jenner were on the rocks and she wanted to have some fun without him. I knew they were drinking at the party; you’d have to be a fool to think they weren’t. She disappeared around midnight from her friend’s house and they found her the next morning on the steps of Saint Peter’s Sovereign Cathedral. She—” Webb’s voice caught for a moment and he closed his eyes. Owen stood and moved to his father-in-law’s side, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“She jumped from the church’s bell tower,” Owen said. “She had gotten in through an unlocked door at the rear of the building and climbed up the tower steps.” He grimaced and shrugged.

Webb shook on the edge of his seat, his entire body trembling, though there were no tears in his eyes now.

“You mark my words,” he said, pointing a finger at all of them. “If she hadn’t been dating that bastard, she never would have done it.”

“Was he abusive in some way? Manipulative?” Liam asked.

“He got in her head. Filled it up with nonsense. She wasn’t the same person after she started dating him.”

“I guess I’m unclear as to why you think Jenner is responsible for Valerie’s disappearance, Mr. Webb,” Liam said.

“Valerie went to speak to him the day after Alexandra was found. She wanted to know why her sister had died and Jenner got enraged and pushed her. Said if she ever bothered him again, he’d kill her.”

“And Valerie told you this?” Liam asked.

Webb nodded. “I need another drink,” he said, standing and going to the liquor cabinet.

“Alexandra’s death was ruled a suicide?” Liam asked.

Owen nodded. “They questioned Jenner and even held him overnight, but in the end there was no evidence that pointed to Alexandra being murdered.”

“Was Jenner brought up on charges for the threat against Valerie?”

“No,” Owen said. “Caulston filed a restraining order against him. Jenner’s been out of work and a drunk ever since Alexandra’s death. He’s been the local pariah for the last sixteen years.”

“Has he ever contacted you or Valerie since then? Ever seen him on your street or close to your home?” Liam said.

“No. I saw him coming out of a liquor store about a year ago, but that was on the other side of town.” Owen reached back to touch the bandage covering his head. “I never told you about all this, but Alexandra’s death is what caused Val’s agoraphobia. We knew each other in high school, and before Alex passed away Val was vivacious, really outgoing. About a year after it happened, she became withdrawn. We started dating six months after Alexandra died and she was already having trouble leaving her apartment. She dropped out of college shortly after that but she got her degree online. She found a job with a placement company that hired freelance content developers and after using her for a year they hired her on full-time. It worked perfectly for her, but it was probably the worst thing for her disorder.”

“She didn’t have a disorder,” Webb barked from beside the liquor cabinet. “She was horrified about what Jenner did to her sister and that he’d gotten away with it. She was terrified. I’ll tell you, if this had happened fifty years ago there would have been another kind of justice.” Webb nodded and sipped from his glass. Owen opened his mouth and then shut it before gazing down at the floor.

“Do you think it’s worth going to visit Jenner again?” Liam asked Perring.

“The officer that went out to his place said he didn’t think the man was in any condition to have kidnapped Valerie, especially after he found out how much he’d drank at the bar the night before. Plus, we have the bartender saying he was there until closing time,” Perring said. “Unless we get some type of lead, we have no right to get a search warrant for his home.”

“You’re all gutless,” Webb said. “You know what needs to be done but your hands are laced up with bureaucratic bullshit.”

“That’s enough, Mr. Webb.” Perring stood. “Until you can maintain a civil tone, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“This is my daughter’s house, you can’t tell me to do shit, lady.”

“Rex?” Perring said. Sanders crossed the room and held out his hand toward the doorway.

“Mr. Webb, please step outside.”

“Owen, tell these bastards that I have a right to be here.”

“Caulston, we need to keep calm, right now more than ever. Please, for Val,” Owen said, his voice worn and pleading. The older man wavered and Liam readied himself to leap from his chair in case Webb’s fist came up and connected with Sanders’s jaw. After a long moment, Webb’s shoulders sagged and he set the glass down.

“For Valerie,” he mumbled, moving to a chair and dropping into it.

The same uniformed officer that had blocked Webb’s entry to the house stepped into the room.

“Uh, Detective Perring? We have a report of a breaking and entering along with an assault on the south side of the city. Could be our guy.”

Perring and Sanders were already moving. “Do they have him in custody?”

“Pursuit’s just ended on thirty-five south. No shots exchanged but there’s been reports of a gun in the suspect’s possession.”

Perring glanced back at Owen who had risen and followed her across the room.

“Mr. Farrow, you need to stay put.”

“But this could be him.”

“Which is exactly why you need to stay here until we have this sorted out. The moment we know something, we’ll contact you.”

Owen began to speak but Perring and Sanders left the room with the officer, and a moment later they heard the sound of several engines roaring away along with the wail of a siren. Owen stared at the entryway and jerked when Liam placed a hand on his back.

“I know you want to be there, but there’s nothing saying that this is our guy. We need to sit tight. Perring’s good, she’ll handle this,” Liam said. Owen nodded and shot a look at Webb who had risen to refill his glass.

“I’ve never felt so helpless.” Owen rubbed the stubble on the side of his face. “Not even when Val . . .”

“When Val what?”

The other man lowered his voice. “When Val tried to kill herself four years ago.”

“You never told me that.”

“It’s not something we wanted to broadcast. It was more of a cry for help than anything else. She swallowed half a bottle of muscle relaxants one afternoon when I was at work. I found her passed out in our room. I got her to the hospital and they pumped her stomach in time. She told me when she woke up that it was getting too hard to go on the way she was.”

“Was she seeing a therapist?”

“Yeah. For a while he came to the house, but slowly Val couldn’t stand to have anyone here besides me or her dad. After that they switched to phone consultations four times a week. He was the one that had prescribed the relaxants to help her sleep, along with two or three other kinds of antidepressants and anxiety meds. When she had her . . . incident, he changed her prescriptions and she seemed to get better. I didn’t let her out of my sight for a week afterwards. I was terrified she’d try it again.” Owen glanced out of the window at the white-capped lake. “But now is worse, so much worse.”

“Do you have a picture of Val, maybe with Alexandra?” Liam asked.

“Yeah, she has everything of Alexandra’s that she kept in her office upstairs.”

“Show me.”

Owen frowned, glancing at Webb who had refilled his glass and wandered into the dining room. He motioned in the opposite direction and led Liam out of the living room, away from the command post, and into a hallway that ran the width of the house opening onto other spacious rooms decorated with a practiced hand. At the far end of the hall, they climbed a set of stairs to the second floor and passed two closed doors before Owen entered a dormered room with birch flooring. A single window looked out over the lake and below that a glass-topped desk held two laptops along with a desktop computer. A vase of wilted roses sat on the desk’s corner, dropping a circle of petals around it like dollops of dried blood.

“She didn’t keep much after Alexandra died: her diary, some of her perfume, pictures, and a couple of T-shirts,” Owen said, walking toward a short set of doors set into the wall beside the desk. “Truth be told that was all she could save before Caulston had almost all her belongings hauled away. He said he couldn’t stand to see Alexandra’s face everywhere and in everything.” Owen opened the doors and drew out a cloth-lined wicker box. He set it on the desk.

Two T-shirts, one tie-dyed and the other white with an abstract drawing of a horse on its front, lay on top. Beneath them was a bottle of perfume, almost completely empty, a paperback copy of collected Robert Frost poems, a neon pink diary with a swooping embroidered design across its front, and at the very bottom a well-worn envelope. Liam drew out the diary first, setting it aside before thumbing open the envelope, exposing a dozen glossy photographs. Most were of a young woman at different ages, her face cherubic and smiling, with a missing bottom, front tooth in the first and slowly progressing through the years. The very last photo was of Valerie and the little girl, now nearly grown. They were carbon copies of one another; blond hair, long and styled to the side, their eyes dancing blue above identical smiles. The only discernible difference was in Valerie’s gaze. It told of experience beyond her years, a dull worrying like that of a stone exposed to millennia of moving water. In the picture their arms were around one another and they sat on a bench with greening grass and budding trees in the background. They were both beautiful and so bursting with life, he thought he could almost hear their intermingled laughter.

“They look like twins,” Liam said.

“They were only a year apart,” Owen said, lowering himself into the office chair like a man twice his age. “They probably could have passed as twins Alexandra’s senior year. That picture was taken right before her graduation, in the park down the street. I only knew her a little since Val and I ran in the same circles in high school, but didn’t start dating until college. She was a sweet girl. It was the one thing Val could talk about without getting bound up. She would tell a story about Alexandra and laugh the whole time until she got to the end.” Owen blinked and his eyes glazed. “I wish I could’ve gotten to know her.”

“Do you mind if I keep this for now?” Liam asked, holding up the picture.

“No, go ahead. What do you want it for?”

“It might come in handy.” He picked up Alexandra’s diary and opened the simple, brass lock on the cover. Inside were numbered pages highlighted with a date at the top of each entry. The script was generous and looping with an elegant lean to the letters. She had dotted each and every lowercase
i
with a heart.

“I’d find Val reading that a lot,” Owen said. “I didn’t know if it was healthy or not, so I asked her therapist about it and he said if it wasn’t causing a disturbance in her mood then to let it go. He thought maybe it was a way of coming to terms with the loss.”

“Death’s a cheat. You don’t come to terms with it.” Liam glanced at his friend, saw him wince. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“We’re going to find her, Owen, you know that, right?”

“But will she . . .”

“We’re going to find her alive and safe, you got me?”

“Yeah.”

“Now I do need to ask you, were you drinking last night?”

Owen frowned. “I may have had one. Why?”

“Just one?”

“Maybe two. Don’t think for a second I don’t remember what really happened, I can’t get it out of my head.”

“I believe you. Keep it under wraps today, all right? I was serious downstairs. Val is going to need you in good condition.” Owen looked as if he were going to say something, but only nodded. “Now, can you call Val’s therapist and have him drop by sometime today?”