The Portrait of Doreene Gray (35 page)

“How did you explain that to your friends?”

“I didn't!” Reynaldo was adamant. “They knew
nothing.
”

“Then how did you explain that you needed to leave right away?”

“I didn't have to! After the will changed, I told Paul and Sissy that I might need to work for them. They were only here because they were waiting to hear from me.” He ran a hand through his hair and gave a choking laugh. “When Lyndsay called and wanted to go, I thought,
I am so lucky.
”

*   *   *

Lyndsay Waring sat across from Detective Kroger at the interrogation table, the front of her sundress marked with dirt from Battery Kinzie.

Kroger leaned back in his chair. “Reynaldo says you called and told him you had the painting.”

“Does Reynaldo know he should wait for a lawyer?” Lyndsay bit out.

“He says you were planning to find a buyer overseas.”

Lyndsay leaned forward. “He's
lying.
I had no idea the painting was on board that ship or that those people were planning to go on a long trip. Reynaldo asked me to take a little cruise with him and his friends, and I said yes. That's
it.
”

Kroger consulted his legal pad, which he held upright, so Lyndsay couldn't see it. “What's your relationship to Maxwell Thorne?”

“He's a friend of my mother's. That's the only relationship we have.”

“Thorne said he might find you a job. Did that job include stealing the painting? Did you have to kill your aunt to do it?”

Lyndsay put both hands on the table. “I didn't kill anyone, and I didn't steal anything!” Her anger suddenly faded, and her lower lip trembled. “I'm not talking to anyone without a lawyer.”

“You can certainly do that.” Kroger smiled sadly. “Of course, lawyers don't want you to talk to the police, even if it might help. They want to go to court and rack up fees.” He looked at his notes. “Let's review what the jury is going to hear. You came into town, and your aunt died. You immediately started a romance with your dead aunt's husband, who was supposed to inherit her very valuable painting. When he didn't inherit, you wound up on a boat with the stolen painting, leaving the country.”

Lyndsay began to sob.

Kroger leaned forward. “This is your chance to help yourself, Lyndsay. What really happened the night Doreene died?”

“I don't know! I wasn't there!” She buried her face in her hands.

Kroger's phone buzzed on the table. He picked it up and looked at the display. “Think about what I've said, Ms. Waring. I'll be back in a while.”

He went through the door and entered the room where Angus and the others waited. “Come on. Evidence says they have something I should see. Maybe you'll know something about it.”

*   *   *

Doreene Gray's altered portrait lay faceup on a table, its grotesque features staring at the ceiling.

One of Kroger's officers, a woman in her midthirties, leaned over the canvas with a magnifying glass and a pair of tweezers.

Kroger greeted her by saying, “I hope you're not doing something the insurance people won't like, Officer Denton.”

“I think we're okay,” she said, looking up. “This painting hasn't been handled gently. A whole section of pasted-on paper has lifted, possibly from humidity in the gun battery.”

“We think the painting was also wrapped around a piece of driftwood.”

“That wouldn't help it any.” She handed him the magnifying glass.

Kroger took it and bent over the painting. “What am I looking for?”

Denton used the tweezers to lift a shiny flap of glued-together paper. With the other hand, she shone a flashlight on the surface it revealed. “See the handwritten section, underneath the flap?”

Kroger tilted his head and read aloud. “‘I didn't mean for it to happen. He fell overboard and was so drunk and angry, I was afraid it would be worse than usual. I got the oars out and kept moving the boat away, hoping he would calm down. Eventually he went under and didn't come back up.'” He raised his head and looked at Angus and the others. “Does that mean anything to you?”

Angus nodded. “Doreene and Maureene's stepfather went out in a boat and drowned.” He looked at Michael. “How old were they when that happened?”

“Eighteen,” Michael said. “Someone told us he was an abusive drunk.”

Officer Denton put down the tweezers and flashlight. “I have something else you should see, sir.” She picked up a file folder from the table and took out the top sheet. “Take a look at this.” She handed it to Kroger and resumed her place with tweezers and flashlight.

Kroger held the sheet of paper in one hand and compared it to the writing on the painting. Then he straightened. “Have someone bring her in, please.”

“Yes, sir.” Officer Denton put down her tools and left the room.

Angus had been chewing his thumbnail. He dropped his hand and cleared his throat. “What is it? What are you looking at?”

Kroger looked up from the sheet of paper. “Maureene Pinter's statement, taken the night of her sister's death. It looks like a match for the handwriting on this painting.”

*   *   *

Detective Kroger and Maureene Pinter sat on either side of the interrogation table, the painting between them.

Kroger lifted the flap and read the text beneath. “You wrote that, didn't you? About your stepfather.”

Maureene stared down at the portrait. She appeared to have aged several years in the last few days.

In the next room, Suki kept her gaze on the video monitor. “You think she'll go crazy, right here in front of us?”

“What a terrible thing to say,” Angus chided. “Poor thing. She was very young, with no one to turn to. I can't believe they'd actually prosecute after all this time.”

Michael shifted on his molded plastic chair. “There's no statute of limitations on murder.”

“Yeah, but
is
it murder?” Suki asked. “I mean, if she was afraid of what her drunk stepfather would do, is keeping away basically self-defense?”

“Shh…” Angus said. “I think she's going to say something.”

In the next room, Maureene slowly raised her head. “I don't know anything about this. My sister must have written it.”

Detective Kroger folded his hands on the table. “You wrote a confession, and your sister cut it up and pasted it onto your portrait of her.”

Maureene turned her face to one side and gazed at the blank wall.

“Doreene blackmailed you for years and years,” Kroger went on. “You supported her in exchange for keeping your secret, didn't you?”

Maureene shook her head slightly, but said nothing.

“But then she decided to sell the portrait.” Kroger continued his calm, flat recital. “You didn't want anyone to know what you had done, so you unlocked the room with the code she used for everything. You took the portrait with your confession and replaced it with a copy of the original.”

“I never left my cottage that night,” Maureene said quietly.

“Then your daughter, Lyndsay, did it,” Kroger said.

Maureene's head swung around. Her sudden animation was as startling as if a statue had come to life. “She did
not.
”

In the monitoring room, Suki whispered a quiet “Dude.”

Kroger didn't change position. “Lyndsay and Reynaldo must have known each other before he came here with Doreene. Lyndsay sneaked into the room while Reynaldo lay next to Doreene, and together they stole the painting and killed your sister.”

Two spots of red burned on Maureene's otherwise white face. “That's a lie!”

Kroger lifted his brows. “Is it? Then how did your daughter wind up with the painting? Why were she and Reynaldo fleeing the country together in possession of the painting? Why did she—”

“Shut up!” Maureene shouted. She pressed a hand over her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut.

“All right.” Kroger leaned back in his chair and folded his hands on the table. “You talk. Because if you don't, Lyndsay is going to be tried for murder and theft.”

Maureene took a deep, shuddering breath and opened her eyes. “I want to speak to Hank Gray. Alone.”

*   *   *

Someone brought a spare chair to the interrogation room, and Officer Denton brought Hank Gray in.

Hank sat next to Detective Kroger and smiled wistfully at Maureene. A ring of gray stubble grew on his usually shaved scalp, like a monk's tonsure.

Maureene looked from Hank to Kroger, an expression of irritation on her features.

Kroger shook his head. “You can't talk to him alone. Sorry.”

Maureene sighed and turned away for a moment. Then she addressed Hank. “They think Lyndsay stole the portrait and killed Doreene.”

Hank turned to Kroger, his heavy features angry.

Kroger nodded. “She and Reynaldo were leaving the country with the portrait. It doesn't look good for either of them.”

“How can anyone call it murder?” Hank demanded. “The coroner said Doreene took an overdose of pills!”

“Even if a jury decides that's the case, Lyndsay and Reynaldo were on the scene and didn't call an ambulance,” Kroger said. “That's criminal negligence. A conviction for that and theft could result in a long sentence.”

Hank and Maureene exchanged a look. Hank opened his mouth to say something.

Maureene held up a hand to stop him. She took a deep breath. “Lyndsay couldn't have stolen the portrait because legally, it's hers.”

Hank turned away.

Kroger shook his head. “I see what you're trying to do, Ms. Pinter, but you can't abdicate your inheritance in favor of your daughter. The theft of the painting is a crime against the estate.”

Maureene gave a tremulous smile. “There is no crime, because you can't steal from yourself. Lyndsay is not my daughter. She's Doreene's.”

*   *   *

In the monitoring room, Suki threw herself against her chair's back, causing it to tip backward to an alarming degree. “Dude!”

Michael scribbled frantically in his small notebook.

Angus shook his head in disbelief. “Amazing.”

*   *   *

Kroger recovered his equanimity with an obvious effort. “Does Lyndsay know that Doreene is really her mother?”

Maureene had looked bemused at Kroger's obvious shock, but now she sobered. “No.”

Kroger turned to Hank. “Did you?”

Hank nodded. “Maureene told me when I came back. She thought it was only fair that I know.”

“Wouldn't it be only fair to tell Lyndsay, as well?” Kroger asked.

“It would have been cruel,” Maureene said. “Doreene got pregnant shortly before she and Hank left for their trip to Argentina. She didn't tell him, and I could tell she wasn't overjoyed about having a child. But when she came back without Hank and told me she wasn't going to keep the baby, I couldn't believe it.” Maureene shook her head. “I knew their marriage was in trouble, but I thought she would want to keep the last vestige of her lost husband.”

Hank snorted. “I wasn't lost. Doreene knew exactly where I was.”

Maureene acknowledged his remark with a grim smile before going on. “I went to Switzerland to be with my sister during the last months of her pregnancy.” Her gaze dropped to the table. “Hank and I were close before Doreene took an interest in him, but my stepfather…”

Hank reached across the table and took her hand.

Maureene gripped his and continued. “I couldn't bring myself to have intimate contact with a man, but I also couldn't bear the thought of Hank's child going to a stranger. The orphanage had a policy. If a mother changed her mind within two weeks, she could take her baby back. So I bleached my hair and pretended to be Doreene. Doreene was already vacationing in Spain. She didn't know I'd claimed Lyndsay as my own until months later.”

“But what about the birth certificate?” Kroger asked. “It must have had Doreene's name as the mother.”

Maureene shrugged. “Correction fluid and photocopies. Doctors and schools understand that it's hard to get originals from another country. Once Lyndsay was old enough for the family resemblance to show, it was even less of an issue.”

Kroger frowned. “Wait a minute … Do you have proof that Lyndsay is Doreene's daughter?”

“Do you remember the letter the magazine people found hidden in the mantelpiece?”

“Doreene's suicide note?”

Maureene gave a brief nod. “I put it there. It was the bottom half of a letter Doreene sent me after a mutual friend congratulated her on her new niece. What Doreene actually wrote was, ‘If I wasn't confident that this was the right decision, I would have died rather than given her up'. I scratched out the word
her
and tore off the top part of the letter, but I still have it. That should be enough proof.” She released Hank's hand with a pat and sat back.

Kroger rubbed his forehead, then looked at Maureene with new determination. “All that may be true, but the fact is, Lyndsay didn't know she was Doreene's heir. She and Reynaldo took that portrait, and they left Doreene for dead in a locked room.” He pointed at Maureene. “And you were part of it. You must have painted the portrait that was left in the original's place.”

Maureene gave Hank a look that was half-question, half-plea.

Kroger turned to look at him. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Hank put his joined hands on the table and stared at them for a moment before replying. “It was my idea.”

“What was?”

“Everything. You have to understand, Maureene and I were always close.” Hank's voice broke, but he recovered and went on. “The night before Doreene and I left for Argentina, I went to Maureene's cottage. We got a little drunk and started to talk about the horrible things Doreene had done over the years. Maureene told me about her stepfather. How, immediately after his death, she wrote down what happened on the night he drowned. Doreene took that journal and pasted pieces on the portrait over the years.” He smiled wryly at Maureene. “I liked to imagine you were a little relieved at my death, since it meant one less person knew.”