Читать книгу The Line Between Here and Gone - Andrea Kane - Страница 10

The Hamptons were quiet.

If this had been July, Montauk Highway would have been a parking lot, and getting through the bumper-to-bumper traffic would have been a nightmare of untold proportions. All the rich, beautiful people with summer “cottages”—a euphemism for multimillion-dollar estates—would have been heading out here to enjoy the Hamptons’s elite shopping, popular clubs and private beaches. They were the Citidiots, as the locals called Manhattanites—the semiannual residents who helped define the Hamptons as a finely manicured alternate world, a playground for the mega-rich.

But, thankfully, it wasn’t July. It was December, way off-season, and only the sparse population of full-time residents were out here. All the better for the Forensic Instincts team. No crowds, the ability to move faster and more productively, and fewer false leads. Besides, Amanda and Paul’s relationship had happened off-season. So this was the best way to recreate the scenario, witnesses and all.

Their first stop was Hampton Bays and the cottage Paul had rented.

Farther out on Long Island than Amanda’s Westhampton Beach apartment, Hampton Bays was a combination of modest and expensive homes, nestled between Westhampton and Southampton. Right now it was sleepy, strung with Christmas lights that would be beautiful after sunset, but one couldn’t help but imagine how hopping the place would be during the summer season. The beaches along the bay were beautiful, and it was a hop, skip and a jump to dining, shopping and nightlife.

The FI team had made a joint decision with Amanda to drive out to Paul’s cottage first, then forty-five minutes away, out to Lake Montauk and the spot where Paul’s car had been found. After these two site visits, they’d backtrack and stop at Amanda’s apartment on the way home. The reasoning was simple: Amanda and Paul had spent more time at his place than at hers. And since Lake Montauk was the crime scene, Casey and Marc could search the area from there to Gosman’s Dock, checking for anything the police had overlooked—assuming they’d really been looking. At the same time, Hero could learn Paul’s scent, and Claire could immerse herself in Paul’s surroundings and see if she picked up on his energy. Whatever personal items of his that Amanda had kept, particularly those with sentimental value, were at her place, and would be sifted through on the return trip.

Casey turned the van into the driveway leading to the cozy little cottage Paul had rented. She’d been watching the road most of the way with an occasional direction from Marc, who was eyeing the GPS. But Claire, who was sitting in the backseat, was finely attuned to the change in Amanda as they neared their destination. She got quieter and quieter, her fingers clasped so tightly together that her knuckles were white. And there was a pained, faraway look in her eyes. She was remembering. She clearly hadn’t been out here since Paul’s disappearance. And the waves of memory were overwhelming.

Gently, Claire put her hand on Amanda’s shoulder. “Are you all right?” she asked.

Amanda gave a slight shake of her head. “Not really. I didn’t expect this to be so hard. And Montauk—I’m not even sure I can do it.”

“Yes, you can—you can do it for your son. Whatever time you need to compose yourself, to work through what you need to—just take it. We have plenty to keep us busy inside the cottage.”

“Thank you,” Amanda replied softly.

Marc glanced over his shoulder at Claire and scowled. She knew what he was thinking—that the clock was ticking and that Claire’s advice to Amanda to take her time was absurd. Claire gazed steadily back at him, conveying her certainty that this was the right way to go. If they pushed Amanda, they’d get less out of her. She needed to deal with her emotions. It was the only way this day trip was going to yield any results.

Reaching the top of the drive, Casey turned off the ignition and sat back, studying the small wood-shingled house with the rocking chair porch. It was a cottage in the truest sense, not the massive estates some of the wealthy locals referred to as their “summer cottages.” It couldn’t have more than two bedrooms and a bath, but it was perfect for a single guy whose career was based out here.

Even with the van’s windows only slightly cracked for Hero’s sake, you could smell the salty air, a sure indication that the bay was close by. A charming cottage, a good location—clearly, Paul Everett had been faring well.

“I can see why you and Paul spent most of your time here,” Casey said tactfully.

Amanda nodded. “The inside is lovely, too. And the place is well maintained, even though it’s fifty years old. Paul got lucky. The owner is a wealthy East Hampton guy who bought the cottage as an investment. He liked Paul. He rented it to him at a great price, especially because Paul wanted it year-round and not just as a summer vacation house. I think Paul would have eventually bought it if…” Amanda’s voice trailed off.

“Let’s go inside,” Marc suggested.

Amanda hesitated.

Casey glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Do you have cell reception?” she asked in a casual tone, as if she didn’t already know the answer.

Amanda glanced down at the phone that was perpetually on her lap or in her hand. “Yes.”

“Then why don’t you stay out here for a minute and check in with the hospital? The owner of the cottage told me he’d leave the door unlocked. Claire, Marc, Hero and I will get started while you get an update on Justin. Then, when you’re ready, you can join us.”

“I appreciate your compassion.” Amanda wasn’t just referring to Casey’s concern for Justin. She wasn’t stupid. She understood that the team was trying to give her the space she needed to prep herself for a painful walk down memory lane.

“No problem.” Casey’s gaze slid to Claire in the rearview mirror and she gave a quick nod.

All three team members climbed out. Marc went around back of the van and opened the double doors so that Hero could jump down and join them.

With a quick lap of his water, Hero scrambled to the gravel drive, waiting obediently while Marc leashed him up.

“All set?” Casey asked.

“Ready and raring to go.”

“Then let’s do it.”

Amanda watched the FI team head into the house—Paul’s house—and her throat tightened. How many times had she and Paul stepped through that door, sometimes toting grocery bags, sometimes laughing and talking, sometimes pulling off each other’s parkas in their haste to make love?

Being back here was surreal, like being plunged into a vivid, bittersweet memory and being forced, by one’s own mind, to relive it.

This was hitting her much harder than she’d expected. After all, she and Paul had been together less than half a year, no matter how intense their relationship had been. Amanda was far from a weak and clingy woman. She’d been on her own since college, and had loved the freedom of her own independence. Meeting Paul had been the last thing she’d expected. Yet it had happened, and, from the moment it did, she’d sensed that her life was about to be changed in a major way.

Losing him had been unbearable, especially after she realized she was carrying his child.

But she’d gotten through it and survived. Her life had gone on.

Except now there was Justin, a precious gift—but one who’d come with a reality she’d never imagined in her worst nightmares. And the unfathomable possibilities were staring her in the face.

So maybe it was the combination of Justin’s precarious health and her postpartum hormones that were making this walk down memory lane so painful.

Or maybe it was because she’d so successfully blocked out the happy times and allowed them to be replaced by grief, anger, hurt and resentment.

Today was going to be one long confrontation with the past. More unnerving than that was the question of what their investigations would uncover. If Paul was alive, what kind of man had he really been? What had he been involved in that he’d kept so well hidden?

Squeezing her eyes shut for one long, aching minute, Amanda picked up her cell phone and snapped back into the real world—the one she’d been battling for almost a month now.

Justin.

She pressed the speed dial number for Sloane Kettering.

Please, God, she prayed, as she did every time she picked up the phone or walked back into the Pediatric BMT unit. Please let him hold on. Please let us find a miracle.

And, for good or for ill, that miracle had to be Paul.

Casey headed up the stone path that led to the cottage. She turned the knob, and, as promised, the door was unlocked.

The place was cozy and charming—one large and one small bedroom, a full bath, a galley kitchen, a little eating area and a family room with a brick fireplace. The back door opened to a wooden deck and a dense cluster of trees. Not exactly woods, but certainly the foliage offered privacy from probing eyes.

Hero immediately went to work, snout to the floor, dragging Marc every which way as he took in all the new and interesting scents. He zigzagged through the house, investigating every inch of his surroundings. Marc let him take the lead. The more comprehensive Hero’s olfactory experience was, the better it would be when Marc made scent pads of anything they found that belonged to Paul. Paul’s scent would be that much more recognizable to Hero, which could be a key factor down the road.

It wouldn’t be the first time Hero had lived up to his name.

“It’s a pretty secluded half acre,” Marc commented a short time later, standing on the deck beside Casey and gazing around. “No houses in back. Set back far enough from the road. And with lines of trees on either side that block the neighbors’ view. Interesting.”

“Very,” Casey agreed. “If someone wanted to stay as inconspicuous as possible, this is a good place to do it.”

Marc nodded, glancing down at Hero, who was sniffing the length of the deck. “It also tilts the scales slightly in favor of Paul Everett being alive. If someone killed him, why do it out in the open, on a road in his car where a passerby could witness it? Why not kill him here, where it’s private, then clean up the mess, toss the body in the trunk of your car and drive it to the ocean to dump it? There’d be no evidence of a murder at all.”

“Unless the murder wasn’t premeditated,” Casey pointed out. “If Paul met someone for an illegal dealing of some kind, it would explain the seclusion of his car’s location. And if that meeting ended violently, the rest of the police’s suggested scenario plays out.”

“True.” Marc frowned. “It just doesn’t feel right. I’m not sure why.”

Casey’s lips curved slightly. “Maybe because it sounds like a low-budget B movie. Besides, I don’t think Paul Everett was an idiot. And only idiots drive out to deserted, sinister places in the middle of the night to meet someone, even for illegal purposes. Paul wasn’t some random drug dealer who hid in alleys to make a drop.”

“That would be the low-budget B movie part,” Marc said, chuckling. “I agree. From all the info Ryan’s given us, Paul Everett was a smart, white-collar businessman.”

“Whose murder is starting to feel more staged by the minute.”

“Casey?” Claire’s voice echoed from inside the empty house.

“Coming.” Casey glanced at Marc. “Keep looking around. Let Hero keep sniffing out all the smells. If you find anything, make a couple of scent pads. I’ll see what’s up with Claire.”

Marc nodded.

Casey went back inside, going straight to where she knew Claire would be—in the master bedroom.

“What are you picking up on?” she asked.

Claire had been standing by the window, staring into the room, her brows knit in puzzlement, her expression shaken. She looked uncharacteristically off balance.

“Contradictions,” she replied. “There are conflicting energies in this room—and throughout this house. Dark and fervent, light and joyous. It’s exhausting to be here. I’d guess Paul Everett felt the same way—like he was being torn in two. The pull is especially strong in this bedroom. He went through some powerful emotional struggles in here.”

“Probably because he and Amanda spent some powerful emotional hours in here.” Casey eyed Claire’s face. “But that’s not what’s got you so weirded out. What is it?”

“Paul. His energy,” Claire said. “I’ve never experienced anything like it. His energy keeps clicking in and out, like a light switch being flipped—on, off, on, off. It’s not just weird. It’s creepy. I don’t understand what it means.”

One of Casey’s brows rose. “You’re not talking about an identical twin scenario, are you?”

“No.” Claire gave a hard shake of her head. “Nothing like that. This is all Paul—here and then gone. Like some binary energy I can’t wrap my mind around.”

Casey pursed her lips. “What can I do to help you get a clearer picture?”

“I’m not sure. As you well know, this isn’t an on-command ability. I either sense it, feel it, or I don’t. And it doesn’t come with an instruction manual.” Claire dragged a frustrated hand through her long blond hair. “The only thing I can suggest is that we bring Amanda in here. She might trigger something stronger, clarify this strange intangible energy. Also, I know that Paul’s personal items are at her apartment, but maybe she has something of his that she carries around, something meaningful to the two of them. This isn’t about just Paul. It’s about him and Amanda as a couple.”

“I’ll get her.” Casey left the house and walked back to the van. Amanda was sitting in the backseat, just as they’d left her. Only her head was bowed and she was openly weeping.

Casey’s gut knotted.

“Amanda?” she said quietly through the slit in the window.

Amanda’s head came up. Her cheeks were wet with tears and her expression was haunted. “I just spoke to Dr. Braeburn. He’s head of the pediatric bone marrow transplant team at Sloane Kettering. Justin’s fever spiked. Not a lot. But enough. Dr. Braeburn isn’t sure whether it’s because the antibiotic isn’t doing its job or because it’s the parainfluenza that’s getting worse. There’s no antibiotic treatment for parainfluenza like there is for CMV. Most people just fight it off. But with Justin’s lack of an immune system, he can’t…”

“Do you need to get back?” Casey asked at once.

Amanda swallowed and shook her head. “No. Dr. Braeburn said that, right now, they’re not making any change in Justin’s antibiotics and there’s no imminent danger. My little guy is still holding his own. He’s a fighter. And Melissa is right by his side. Frankly, the doctor thought it was far more crucial that I continue trying to track down Paul. And, much as my instincts are to rush right back, the truth is I’m not doing Justin any good hovering over him and getting hysterical. I’ve got to help him. I’ve got to find Paul.”

Seeing the determination on Amanda’s face, hearing the firm tone to her voice, Casey got her first real glimpse of the strong woman beneath the grieving mother. Amanda Gleason was nobody’s doormat. She’d do what she had to. And she was ready to face whatever she had to about Paul.

“Can you come inside, please?” Casey opened the door. “Claire thinks it might help her.”

“Of course. That’s what I’m here for.” Wiping the tears off her face, Amanda slid out of the car and preceded Casey to the front door.

Claire was standing in the middle of the master bedroom when they walked in. She glanced up, clearing her expression of anything negative or alarming, and acknowledging Amanda with a compassionate look. “How are you holding up?” she asked.

“Not great. But I’m not the concern here. Justin is. Did you sense anything from your tour of the cottage?”

Claire explained the same thing to Amanda that she had to Casey—omitting the unnerving part and sticking to the conflicting energies she was picking up.

Amanda gave a sad nod. “That doesn’t surprise me. If Paul was wrestling with something ugly or illegal and keeping it from me, it probably was gnawing away at him—that is, if he actually cared about me at all.”

“He did.” That Claire said without hesitation. “One of the positive energies I can pick up on is love. There was genuine emotion here, especially in this bedroom. I can sense intimacy, passion and tenderness. But it’s all tangled up with guilt and a dark, underlying purposefulness. I can’t promise you there was no manipulation involved in Paul’s relationship with you. I can only tell you that he was torn—and that he did care for you.” Claire pointed at the area on the long wall. “What was there?”

“Paul’s bed.”

A nod. “That explains why the emotions I’m picking up on are the strongest there. There’s a raw vulnerability and a clarity there that make it easier for me to connect. There’s no divisiveness—only pained confusion. Paul was definitely battling feelings for you versus other commitments.”

“What commitments?” Amanda asked. “What was he involved in?”

Claire frowned. “I don’t know.” She turned, pointing at the opposite wall. “What used to be there?”

“Paul’s desk. His small file cabinet. His laptop.”

“And intensity. Not emotional. Mental. This is where plans were reviewed, strategies were devised…” A pause. “And phone calls were made. Not on his regular cell. On a separate one. One he kept locked in his desk drawer and used only when he was alone. He was a different man during those calls. He wasn’t the person you knew.” A pause. “He was running. To something, and away from something. Again, that same binary energy. No clear images of the to or the from—or the why. Just flashes of Paul in motion.”

“Paul did run—in the literal sense,” Amanda supplied. “Five miles every morning, no matter what the weather. Here. At my place. No matter where we stayed. Could that be the running you’re envisioning?”

“Sometimes.” Claire was concentrating, hard. “I can see him in his sweats. Panting as he makes his way rhythmically along the beach. Stopping to make a phone call—on that private phone again. He enjoyed his run, but he used it for more than exercise. And the running isn’t just literal. It’s more complex than that.” Claire squeezed her eyes shut, and then gave a frustrated shake of her head. “That’s it. I just can’t pick up on any details.”

Casey was studying the anguished look on Amanda’s face.

“Let’s walk the rest of the house,” she suggested. “We’ll see if Paul inadvertently left something behind—something you didn’t notice when you had his things removed. If we find anything, I’ll make some scent pads for Hero. By now, he’ll have memorized every smell in the cottage. Then we’ll head out to Montauk.” A quizzical glance at Amanda. “If you’re up for it.”

“I’ve got to be up for it.” There was no hesitation in Amanda’s voice. “Any pain I feel over Paul pales in comparison to my pain over Justin. I hired you to find Paul. I don’t plan on being an obstacle in your search. Let’s drive out to the crime scene—now. If Justin can fight, so can I.”