The Shadow Box(74)

“Why was that?” Conor asked.

“His money,” Lockwood said, his tone flat. “That might sound crass, but it’s reality. There were plenty of women along the way who saw the big house, the boats, the address. We wanted him to have a life like ours—real love, equal footing.”

“But he was wild for Claire,” Conor said.

Lockwood nodded. “Yes. He’d lost his college girlfriend—another tragedy. Ellen Fielding.”

“Claire found her body,” Conor said.

“Yes, she and Griffin were together on the beach. Horrible for both of them. That was really what sealed it for Leonora and me—the way Claire was there for him. He had been through so much already; we were worried about him. She shored him up.”

“Since you knew him so well, and you and your wife were like parents to him, you must have known Ellen too.”

“We absolutely did.”

“And . . .”

“Unstable. People said she might have committed suicide. That didn’t seem far fetched to us.”

“What makes you say she was unstable?”

“Oh, she was unhappy. Overly sensitive. She was clingy with Griffin until suddenly she decided she wanted to break up, right after graduation. We asked him why, and he had no idea. Poor kid.”

“Sounds tough,” Conor said.

“Well, yes,” Lockwood said. “And her drowning, just awful. I was in the navy, and I know how terrible accidents on the water can happen in an instant—a slip on a wet deck or, in Ellen’s case, on the rocks. Horrible accident.”

Conor’s antenna went up. Terrible accident, horrible accident. The old man was driving home his point.

“There was a silver lining, though—he got together with Claire,” Lockwood said.

Conor stared at Lockwood, wondering why he’d been summoned to his office. The rich really were different; this old man looked at women and saw gold diggers. He liked Claire because she had shored up Griffin—as if that were her purpose on earth, to heal a wounded man. And he had called Conor and asked for a meeting—why? To give helpful information or try to learn what the police knew?

“Do you think Griffin would have hurt Claire?” Conor asked, staring at him hard.

“Good Lord, no!” Lockwood said. “Haven’t you heard what I’ve been saying? He is devastated.”

“Is that why you called me here? To make sure I understand that?”

“I thought you’d be smart enough to figure that out on your own,” Lockwood said. “I merely wanted to let you know Leonora and I want to help your investigation the best we can. We want this case solved.”

“Okay,” Conor said. “Now I have a question. How does Claire’s disappearance affect Griffin’s run for office? You’re a big supporter of his, aren’t you?”

“I resent that tone, but yes. I support him. I donate to his campaign. And nothing changes; to Griffin, a life of public service comes second only to family. I can’t tell you how much I admire that trait of his.”

“Another question,” Conor said. “Back to Ellen for a minute. You said she was clingy.”

“Yes. Hanging all over him.”

“Where did you see her do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s ancient history,” Lockwood said, scowling.

Conor could see he regretted having brought it up. He thought about a fact he’d seen in the Ellen Fielding file; Griffin had been questioned by none other than Tuck Morgan, the police commissioner—a very unusual circumstance—in the presence of a family friend. And the investigation had been shut down before it even began. Could that friend have been Lockwood?

“Tell me, Mr. Lockwood. Are you still in touch with former Commissioner Morgan?” Conor asked.

“Tuck? Yes, of course,” Lockwood said. “Great guy, a longtime friend . . .” Then he stopped himself and narrowed his eyes, staring at Conor as if he’d just figured out he’d been tricked.

Lockwood’s phone buzzed, and he answered. He listened a moment, then stood and offered Conor his hand, dismissing him.

“I have another meeting,” he said. “Please don’t hesitate to call if I can help. And I would appreciate your letting me know if there’s progress on the case.”

“We don’t discuss open investigations, Mr. Lockwood,” Conor said.

“Know this,” Lockwood said, his tone suddenly sharp and cold. “I will do anything I can to help Griffin. If you go after him, you’ll be making a mistake.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Conor said, staring the old man down.

Lockwood stared back, his features immobile: a block of granite who had just threatened a detective.

In the lobby Conor saw three men standing by the window. Two from Catamount Bluff—Edward Hawke and Neil Coffin. The other was someone Conor knew only from news stories and from seeing him around the courthouse during his trial: Maxwell Coffin, Neil’s brother.

All were political supporters of Griffin Chase. And, like Chase and Lockwood, members of the Last Monday Club. Neil Coffin nodded to Conor as he walked past, but Hawke and Maxwell Coffin turned away.





42





JACKIE