Pretty Girls Dancing(59)
“Other side of the world, according to Linda,” Kurt muttered. Then he stopped. Frowned. “Almost forgot. I got word from the hotel we use there. They were served with a warrant this morning for our company receipts for the last six months. Probably weren’t supposed to tip me off, but we do a hell of a lot of business there. I’ve put a call in to our attorney. Damn glad we keep clean records.”
David’s earlier excitement was replaced with foreboding. “IRS?”
“No, that’s the hell of it. BCI.” Kurt shook his head. “Can’t for the life of me figure out what they’d be interested in, but you can be damn sure I’ll find out.”
BCI. Acid churned in his gut. “It’s not the company, it’s me.” David figured the attorney would ferret out that much information at any rate. He made no attempt to keep the bitterness from his tone. “You’ve heard about the girl from Saxon Falls who went missing?”
“Of course.” Kurt’s voice was gruff. “I didn’t want to mention it because—”
“At this point, they’re looking for connections to Kelsey’s case. And just like seven years ago, the first thing they do is look at the families. They’re checking out my alibi for October 30. I was in Columbus that weekend with Martin. We had dinner with Joe Beasley and his wife.”
Exactly what was in that warrant? His heart began to hammer. And how much information had the hotel turned over? If it covered only charges to the business, there was no problem. If, however, the agents had inquired about all of David’s reservations . . .
His panic was mixed with bitterness. The parents of the victim should feel like they were on the same side as the investigators. But it hadn’t ever felt like that for David. He’d always had the sense that every word he uttered was weighed for possible dishonesty. And he’d been truthful with them. He’d told them everything they needed to know.
“Your alibi? Sons of bitches.” Schriever’s face clouded, one big fist clenching on his lap. “Like you and Claire haven’t already been through enough.”
David’s smile was forced. “I guess it will all be worth it if they manage to find a link to Kelsey through this new case. But as you can imagine, Claire’s pretty stressed out over this.”
“I’ll bet. And how’s Janie doing with it?”
The question hit David like a well-placed punch in the solar plexus. How was Janie doing with it? “We’ve managed to keep the cops away from her.” But that wasn’t enough. It never would be. There’d always be some little asshole at school bringing it up, like that bitchy Miller girl had. He and Claire often made the mistake of believing that they could keep Janie sheltered from it all, but they were lying to themselves. He made a mental note to sit down with his daughter tonight and have a long talk with her. Try to figure out how much damage all this new coverage had had on her. She wasn’t like Kelsey. Happy, sad, angry, their oldest daughter wore her emotions for all to see. Janie spoke freely at home—her anxiety had never been an issue there. But she rarely shared anything personal. At least, not with him.
A stab of guilt arrowed deep. Father of the year, an inner voice jeered. Like going to parent-teacher conferences once each semester gave him a clue about what was going on in his youngest daughter’s head.
Just like he hadn’t had a clue with Kelsey. Until it’d been too late.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, David shoved away from the desk and stood. He hadn’t been as productive as he would have liked after the meeting with Kurt. So he’d leave on time for once. Have dinner with the family, and spend some time with Janie. Try to get an idea about how much she’d been impacted by the DeVries case. He was ashamed to admit that he couldn’t recall the last time he’d had a conversation with his daughter that had lasted more than a couple of minutes. And he knew exactly what that said about him.
Troubled, he crossed the room to collect his coat. Opening the door of the closet tucked into the corner of the room, he noticed one of his gloves on the floor. He bent down to retrieve it and rose, rapping his head painfully on the overhead shelf, knocking it from its brackets. Colors burst behind his eyelids as pain exploded. The shelf and contents tumbled down on top of him. He raised his hands in a delayed response that was too sluggish to stem the avalanche. It all fell to the floor, the shelf with a thud, followed by a tinkle of glass.
Damn it. Gingerly David touched his head where a bump was already forming before squatting down to deal with the mess. He found the brackets and readjusted them before affixing the shelf again. He crouched to dig through the pile. Scrolls of old campaign ads, a ball cap he didn’t even recognize, a briefcase he no longer used . . . All were covered with tiny shards of glass. His fingers slowed as he pulled a large framed picture from the bottom of the heap. With hands that had started to shake, he turned it over.
A crayon drawing of their family. No, he corrected himself immediately as his gaze traced over the sketch, not crayons but colored pencils. Kelsey had graduated from crayons years earlier. She’d been eight when she’d presented this to him and told him gravely that he was to hang it at work.
In it, he and Claire flanked the two girls, all of them holding hands with big smiles on their faces. He liked to think Kelsey had gotten her artistic side from him. She’d captured their features with a talent far beyond her years. He’d framed the picture, and it had hung on the wall of his office until several months after she’d disappeared. When looking at it had become an agonizing reminder of everything he’d lost. He’d had to hide it away because each time he passed it, he was sucked back into that emotional maelstrom with its sticky tentacles of grief that could entrap him if he let them.