The Shadow Box(42)

Investigating Claire’s disappearance, police had contacted every heavy equipment rental company in a twenty-five-mile radius around Black Hall. Only two wood chippers had been rented for a period that included that Friday, both by landscapers who had done business with the companies before. The company representatives attributed the small number of rentals to it being a long weekend. Their offices were open just a half day on Saturday and closed both Sunday and Monday. Renters wouldn’t want to incur the extra charges.

When Conor got to the Chases’ house, he parked in the turnaround and got out of the car. He had called Ford and told him they needed to talk. He had offered to drive to wherever Ford lived, but Ford said he was at the Catamount Bluff house. There was a Porsche and a Mercedes SUV parked in front of the barn where Claire had been attacked. Conor wondered which vehicle was Ford’s. He hesitated, glanced toward the woodland trail. He wanted to follow the course the dogs had already searched, look for anything they or the team might have missed. But he wanted to talk to Ford first.

He knocked on the front door and waited. When no one answered, he walked around to the seaward side of the house. He walked up the back steps, peered into the kitchen, rapped on the glass. Still no reply.

Claire’s studio was just down the hill toward the Sound, and Conor walked across the lawn, mown grass sticking to his shoes. A large picture window faced north, in the direction of the house, and as he approached he saw shadows moving within the studio. He headed around the whitewashed building and saw that the double doors facing the beach were closed. He knocked hard. No response.

“Police,” he called. “Please open the door.”

He heard the murmur of voices inside, but then one of the doors slid open on an iron track. A fair-haired young man stood just inside, trying to smile.

“Officer?” he said.

“Detective Reid. Are you Ford?”

“No, his brother, Alexander. We’ve been expecting you.”

“Is Ford here too?”

“Yes, he’s inside.”

“May I come inside?” Conor asked.

“Of course,” Alexander said, casting a nervous look over his shoulder and stepping aside. “Please come in.”

Conor entered the large bright space. He immediately noticed a young man lying on a sofa bed across the room, beyond Claire’s workbench, a tool chest, and an easel. Alexander led him over.

“Ford?” Alexander said.

“Hi, Detective,” Ford said. His hangover was painfully obvious, and he seemed disinclined to move.

“Hi, Ford,” Conor said.

“You might as well know, if you haven’t already heard, which I’m sure you have, that Claire and I didn’t get along,” Ford said.

“That true for both of you?” Conor asked, glancing at Alexander.

“My brother likes everyone,” Ford said. “That’s why you want to talk to me, right? Because you think I’m the bad one and I did it, right?”

“Did you do it?” Conor asked.

“I don’t even know what ‘it’ is,” Ford said.

“That’s fine,” Conor said. “I just want to get an idea about Claire. Why don’t you tell me what you think might have happened to her?”

“We want to know that too,” Alexander said. “Where is she? Why was so much blood in the garage? It’s all over social media that she was probably murdered. But that can’t be true.”

“Why?” Conor asked.

“She’s strong,” Alexander said. “Amazing. She would have fought like hell. And she’s . . . not here. There’s no body. She’s not dead. Those people posting on Facebook don’t even know her. They’re wrong.”

“Dad’s the state’s attorney,” Ford said to Alexander. “You don’t have to go online to know how the investigation’s going. Just ask him.”

“What does your father say?” Conor asked.

“That he’s going crazy, wondering what happened to her,” Ford said. “Wanting her to be okay and come home. That he feels the cops aren’t doing enough.”

Conor ignored the last part. “Does he think she can come home?” he asked.

Ford shrugged. Conor stared at him. The kid was making it sound as if Claire had a choice in the matter.

“What do you think happened to her?” Conor asked again.

“No idea,” Ford said.

“Alexander, you said Claire is strong and would have fought back. What makes you say that?” Conor asked.

“If you saw her work, the art she produces and the message in it—statements about the environment, humanity, abuse, even life and death. She cares, and she’s out there with what she has to say. She’s fierce. She fights against what she considers wrong.”

“She doesn’t know anything about abuse,” Ford said.

“Well, through Dad,” Alexander said. “The cases he works on.”

“If you’re wondering, Claire’s not an abused woman,” Ford said. “And neither was my mother. Or that other one. Ellen.”

“Okay,” Conor said. He paused, watching Ford’s face for his reaction to the next question. “Who is Ellen?”

“Someone my dad dated in college and Claire’s obsessed with. She doesn’t like thinking he was with anyone before her. She’d like to forget my dad was married before. To our mom,” Ford said.