His partner, in contrast, was petite and as pale as Hughes was dark. Freckles splashed across her nose, and her white-blonde hair was tied back in a pony tail at the nape of her neck.
‘We’re investigating the murder of Meredith Logan,’ Hughes explained, ‘and I understand you might be able to help us.’
‘I really didn’t know Meredith very well, detective,’ I said. ‘Why don’t we sit in the living room. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?’
They declined.
After we were seated comfortably, I continued. ‘Meredith was my daughter’s friend. They were classmates at Bryn Mawr College up in Pennsylvania, but that was some time ago.’
‘We’ll want to talk to your daughter, too, of course. How can we get in touch with her?’ Detective Hughes asked.
I gave him Emily’s address and phone number, watching with fascination as Sherry Miller wrote it down in a minuscule notebook, using neat capitals letters.
‘I’m confused, Detective Hughes. I thought the police had arrested a man for Meredith’s murder. That Jogging Trail guy.’
Sherry Miller glanced quickly at Hughes, but Hughes sent a withering glance in her direction and whatever she’d been about to say died on her lips. ‘We’re interested in what you might be able to tell us about a shopping bag that has shown up on some security tapes at the Library of Congress.’ Hughes reached into the leather portfolio he’d been carrying and handed me a picture, a close-up of Lilith’s Garfinkel’s bag. ‘Can you tell us anything about it?’
‘What would you like to know?’
‘What’s in it, for a start.’
‘Letters and photos. At least that’s what was in it when I had it.’
‘When was that?’ he asked.
I told him about the Metro crash, described how I had met Skip, and explained the mix-up at the hospital.
‘What date would that be – the crash, I mean?’
I opened my mouth to say that I couldn’t believe he wouldn’t know the answer to that. For weeks, there had been nothing else in the papers or on TV. But, I paused, counted to three and told him anyway. ‘September the seventh.’
‘Do you know where the bag is now?’ he asked.
‘No. I mean, yes. I returned it to its owner.’
‘Who is?’
‘A woman named Lilith Chaloux. She lives on the Eastern Shore in Woolford, a few miles outside of Cambridge.’
‘When you had the bag, at any time was it out of your possession?’ he asked.
‘Absolutely not.’
Corporal Miller glanced up from her notes and spoke for the first time. Her voice was clear and light, almost like a child’s. ‘What kind of letters and photographs were they, Mrs Ives?’
‘Personal ones.’
‘Can you elaborate on that?’ she asked, one eyebrow arched suspiciously as if she expected me to say ‘porn.’
‘I don’t feel it’s my place to go into a lot of detail. For that, it’s best you ask Lilith Chaloux yourself. But I don’t think she’d mind if I told you they were love letters.’
‘What is Ms Chaloux’s connection to Meredith Logan?’
‘None, as far as I know. Ms Chaloux lives out in the country by herself, in a cottage on the water. She paints. I don’t think she socializes very much.’
Hughes reached into his portfolio and withdrew another picture. ‘Who is this man?’
I was sure he knew the answer to this question, too. ‘His name is Skip – I mean Nicholas Aupry. He was riding the Metro with me when it crashed. It was his bag.’
‘And this?’ Another picture came sliding across the coffee table my way.
The minute I laid eyes on it, I gave myself a silent high five. John Chandler had made good on his promise. The surveillance tapes that Jud Wilson had shared with me were now in police possession. The picture showed James Hoffner in profile, just after he dropped the Garfinkel’s bag off on the conveyor belt that would take it through the X-ray machine at the Library of Congress. ‘That is a sleazy lawyer named James Hoffner.’
Sherry grinned, then quickly recovered, dropping her voice almost an octave to ask, ‘Why is Mr Hoffner carrying the Garfinkel’s bag in this picture?’
‘He’s Nicholas Aupry’s attorney.’
I handed the picture back. ‘Look, why are you asking me these questions? Shouldn’t you be asking Mr Aupry and Mr Hoffman?’
‘We’ve talked to Mr Hoffman,’ Miller volunteered. ‘And you’ve just confirmed what he told us.’
‘How about Nicholas Aupry?’ I asked. ‘What did he have to say?’
Detective Hughes slid all three photos into his portfolio and snapped it shut. ‘Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to locate Mr Aupry. We’re hoping you could help us with that, too.’
My jaw dropped. ‘What do you mean you can’t locate him? He’s at Kernan Hospital up in Baltimore. As you probably know, he was gravely injured in the accident. He’s in rehab.’
Hughes exchanged glances with his partner. ‘Was. Mr Aupry was discharged from Kernan two days ago.’
I sat silent for a moment, stunned. ‘Have you talked to his mother? Checked where he works? His mother told me he’s got some sort of research position at the Johns Hopkins Applied Physics Lab in Laurel.’
‘We haven’t talked to her yet, but we will.’
Corporal Sherry Miller folded her notebook, but before she could stuff it into her pocket, she asked, ‘Is there anything else you think we need to know?’
James Hoffner is a lying, murdering son of a bitch? But I bit my tongue. ‘I’m not sure whether it’s related or not, but we had a break-in several weeks ago.’
Hughes glanced quickly at Miller – be sure to write that down – then back at me. ‘Did you report it to the police?’
I nodded. ‘Nothing seems to have been taken, though. Whoever it was could have been looking for the letters. Hard to say. The police dusted for prints.’ I shrugged.
‘We’ll check with them.’ Hughes stood and extended his hand. ‘Thank you, Mrs Ives. You’ve been very helpful.’
‘Promise me you will find the person who did this to Meredith,’ I said as I shook his hand. ‘She was a lovely young woman.’
‘We’re working flat out on that, Mrs Ives.’ Corporal Miller started toward the door, paused and turned. ‘You can be sure of that.’
‘Detective Hughes?’ I asked as I opened the door to see them out. ‘Have you ever played football for the Redskins?’
His laugh started somewhere deep in his chest and rumbled out of his mouth like a runaway locomotive. ‘I get that a lot.’
Not long after Hughes and Miller left, something struck me like a knife though the heart. The picture Hughes showed me of Nicholas Aupry. It wasn’t taken at the Library of Congress at all. In that picture, Nick was waiting near a reception desk, and hanging on the wall behind him was the distinctive red, white and blue logo of the Lynx News Network.
TWENTY-FOUR
I telephoned Lilith right away.
‘Hannah, how good to hear from you.’
I didn’t shilly-shally around. ‘Lilith, is Nick with you?’
‘No, he isn’t. Why do you ask?’
If I mentioned the police it might alarm her, so I said, ‘I just called Kernan and they say he’s been discharged! I found that so hard to believe that I made them check the patient inventory again. How can he have gone home so soon? The last time I saw him he was flat on his back with stainless steel rods screwed into his skull.’
Lilith spoke lightly. ‘He made a lot of progress since the last time you visited, Hannah. When I was there last week, he had a brace on his leg, but was using a walker.’
‘Do you have a cell phone number for him. I’m assuming he got a new one?’
‘Nick gave it to me, Hannah. It’s around here somewhere.’
Great, I thought. They’ll uncover it in the next century when they dig down to the Mesozoic level. ‘Do you know where he went? I’d like to send him a card,’ I said, making it up as I went along.