Deadlock (FBI Thriller #24)(67)

Miranda paused, shook her head. “Six months with Nate and then I was a widow, my husband probably murdered, and everything was—just over. It seems like a different life now, and I’m certainly not that young woman anymore.”

Savich said, “Mrs. Stirling, you didn’t know how Nate died, didn’t understand what he’d told you the night before he drowned. You must have spoken to John about it, about the money Nate was expecting to get.”

“Yes. John said he didn’t know anything about it, couldn’t imagine what Nate was talking about. Then he fell apart again and held me close and cried. We cried together. I didn’t ask him again about the money. I wouldn’t have had any right to it anyway.”

Savich sat forward. “But it makes sense to you he was meeting someone about the money the next day and that’s who killed him?”

“Ah, yes, if there was a partner, it had to be John, or at least he’d have known about it. Could the stolen money have come from the government somehow, have something to do with John being on those committees in Congress? I don’t know. I had to let it go, so I did.”

Savich said, “Mrs. Stirling, did you know Rebekah, John and Gemma’s granddaughter?”

“I remember her very well. I saw on the news Rebekah was attacked, last Thursday, wasn’t it? But Congressman Manvers said she was fine and the police were investigating. I hope she is. I don’t suppose you’d tell me if Rebekah is somehow involved in all this?”

“We believe she is, Mrs. Stirling. But what her husband said is true. She’s fine. What do you remember of her?”

“I remember she was with John whenever he could manage it. Her mother, Caitlin, never seemed to mind. In fact, I only met Caitlin a couple of times. But Rebekah, yes, such a pretty little girl, eager, bright, and she had a kind heart, unusual, I think, for a child that young. John was always talking about how smart she was, how she loved the children’s stories he made up about him and Nate and their adventures. I remember thinking more than once that John loved her more than he loved Gemma, more than he loved his own daughter, Caitlin. I remember there was no love lost between Gemma and her daughter, either. I don’t know why, but I thought it odd, since I’ve always been so close to my own mother.

“Rebekah looked quite a bit like Caitlin and a lot like John. And now Rebekah’s all grown up. Imagine, she even married a congressman like her grandfather. I was surprised she married a man so many years her senior, just as I did. I wondered if she felt so comfortable with him because of her grandfather. I saw a wedding photo of her in the Post. She looked striking.”

Sherlock said, “Is that a photo of your husband, Mrs. Stirling?” She nodded toward a framed photo.

“Yes, that’s Frank. I met my prince at a New Year’s Eve party in 2010. Glad to say he keeps my teeth in perfect condition.” She gave them a big grin, showing straight white teeth. “He’s my junior by ten years,” she added, and grinned even bigger.





43


ST. LUMIS

TUESDAY AFTERNOON

Pippa and Chief Wilde ate hamburgers at the Wave, a popular tourist greasy spoon opposite the ancient pier in the red-box puzzle. Thankfully, there weren’t any dead birds or human bones scattered about, no Major Trumbo hanging out of a window of the Alworth Hotel.

Pippa stared sadly at the final two bites of her cheeseburger. “Juicy and perfect. Alas, no more room. Ah, there’s one fry left.” She popped it into her mouth, chewed slowly, eyes closed. Wilde started laughing at her. She patted her mouth, wagged her finger at him. “You’re jealous because I nabbed it before you.”

He ate the final bite of his own hamburger and sat back. “Too bad you and Mrs. Trout had no luck with that sketch of Black Hoodie, but she did say up front she’s better at drawing a cactus than a person.”

“Mrs. Trout is really good. She tried, and I was hopeful. But you’re right, what we came up with isn’t anything useful. It was dark and I guess I was still woozy from the knock on the head. About all I could tell her was he had a slight build and was younger rather than older. And I only had an impression of his profile inside that hoodie. Good luck with that.”

“You done scraping up fries? Good. I want us to go to that old abandoned grocery store where Black Hoodie attacked you.” He waggled a dark eyebrow. “If this was Philadelphia, we’d have had a team in there by now.”

They stepped outside into a cold afternoon under a sullen sky that promised rain. There weren’t any tourists in sight, only locals hunkered down in coats, stoically going about their business. They walked the same route Pippa had taken. Twenty minutes later, they stood in front of the derelict grocery store. In the dull gray light, the building looked even more desolate than it had the day before.

Wilde said over his shoulder as he pushed open the creaking door, “When I first arrived in St. Lumis, I spent a week exploring every inch of the town, even checked out this old store. When I happened to mention this particular eyesore to Mr. Sleeman, he told me he’d tried to buy the building from Hubert Duncan, a retired dentist whose grandfather had run the store way back when, but no go. Evidently the two men hadn’t gotten along for many years. Sleeman didn’t tell me what his plans were if he had gotten ahold of it. Maybe he’d have built a skating rink, cold enough for it today.”