Jocelyn didn’t know whether she should say something or not to try to move things along, or if she should just let the woman talk. Francine seemed almost in a trance. It was as if she were talking to herself. “I always wondered why he spent so much time right here, staring. Then today, after I saw you—” she broke off and met Jocelyn’s eyes.
Jocelyn nodded, a small, slight movement to indicate that Francine should keep talking.
“I thought it was the table at first, maybe he hid something there—taped under or behind it. Then I looked behind the frame but there was nothing there. I opened the back of the frame, took the painting out. Then I . . . I don’t know what came over me. I just knew there was something here. I wasn’t sure what but I knew. Why does he spend so much time in this tiny space just staring? There had to be something here.”
“Francine,” Jocelyn said, placing a hand on her shoulder.
Francine stiffened.
“What did you find?”
The woman swallowed, her throat quivering. She pointed to the floor. “He hollowed out a piece of the frame.” She nudged a jagged piece of the frame with the toe of her sneaker. In the light, something glinted. Something shiny and gold. Jocelyn squatted down for a closer look. On the inside of the wooden frame, the side that would have faced the wall, a wide groove had been cut. From the looks of it, a flat, smooth piece of wood had been glued atop the hole, making a secret compartment, and Francine had used the claw of the hammer to pry it off. Inside was a small pair of gold hoop earrings, what looked like a girls’ class ring, and a delicate gold chain with a charm on it. Jocelyn bent her fingers and, using the middle knuckle of her index finger, turned the piece of wood slightly so that she could clearly read what the charm said.
Her head spun. A hollow feeling descended into her stomach. She blinked once, read it again. She wasn’t seeing things.
The charm read: Sydney.
Chapter 32
November 17, 2014
“He did it, didn’t he?” Francine said, her voice quavering.
Jocelyn stood. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the jewelry. She realized in that moment that, in spite of her efforts to break Cash Rigo, she had never really believed in his guilt. She’d taken the case for Knox, because he was dying. Because she wanted to work on a real case again. Something that mattered. Something that would put a bad guy in prison. Something that would give a family peace. But here it was. The smoking gun.
The mythical smoking gun, as Knox called it.
Holy shit.
Francine’s hand wrapped around Jocelyn’s wrist, clammy and moist. “He did it, didn’t he? Didn’t he? I remember when Sydney died, all the news reports said that the murderer took her jewelry. My husband murdered Sydney Adams, didn’t he? Why else would he have this stuff? Why would he keep it? Hide it?”
“Mrs. Rigo,” Jocelyn said, her voice a croak. Her mouth was dry. She licked her lips, pulled her wrist from Francine’s grasp, and motioned in the direction of the kitchen. “I think we should go sit down.”
Francine met her eyes. She looked wild now, like a frightened animal. “In my house,” she said. “He hid her jewelry in my house all this time.”
Jocelyn gripped her shoulders and peered hard into her wide, wild eyes. “Francine, listen to me. You understand that I need to make some phone calls now, right? You understand that I need to call the police—you understand what happens now, don’t you?”
Francine’s eyes seemed to come into focus again. She nodded very slowly. “Yes,” she murmured.
Jocelyn led her to the kitchen and seated her in a chair at the table. Jocelyn made several phone calls while Francine stared straight ahead, her eyes blank, unseeing. When Jocelyn finally put her cell phone on the table, Francine asked, “Would you like some coffee?”
Jocelyn stared at the woman, swallowing the first three sarcastic replies that came to mind. It was Cash who had given them the tainted coffee, after all. “No thanks,” Jocelyn said.
When her phone rang again, she picked it up immediately. As she put it to her ear, she heard Francine whisper, “My God. What else has he done?”
Chapter 33
November 17, 2014
“Holy fucking shit, Rush,” Trent said. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I mean holy shit.” It had been a half hour since Jocelyn arrived at the Rigos’ house. She stood with Trent on the front steps. She had already given him the run down and shown him the jewelry. A crime scene unit was inside processing the scene while uniformed officers babysat Francine. Not that she needed monitoring. She’d been nearly catatonic since Jocelyn seated her in the kitchen.
“I know,” Jocelyn said. “It’s insane.”
Their breath came out in great white clouds. Trent tugged at the collar of his jacket, pulling it up toward his ears. Jocelyn hadn’t even had time to put on her coat before she left the house, but she barely felt the cold. Her adrenaline was pumping so hard and fast, she felt like she’d be awake for a month.
Trent pulled his cell phone out and looked at it. “I’m trying to get an arrest warrant now, before he comes home.”
“Send a marked unit to the school,” Jocelyn suggested.
Trent shook his head. “Nah. I don’t want to spook him. We’ll be ready for him when he gets here. I’ll have the uniforms park down the street so he doesn’t see the car right away.”
From the corner of her eye, Jocelyn saw Knox ambling up the street, bundled in a large, brown coat that had seen better days and dragging his O2 tank behind him. His skin was flushed bright red. As she approached him, she could hear his wheezing.
“Jesus, Knox. I could have had someone pick you up.”
His frame shook. Jocelyn couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or exertion or something else. His voice was scratchy. “Tell me,” he said.
As she told him what Francine had found, he seemed to deflate, his legs buckling, his body falling straight down. Jocelyn grabbed his shoulders quickly. Trent ran over and they took up position on either side of Knox, half dragging and half carrying him. For the first time in weeks, he didn’t reek of alcohol.
“My car,” Jocelyn said. “I’m right here, in the front of the house.”
Together, she and Trent stuffed Knox and his O2 tank into her backseat. Jocelyn used her keys to start the car and blast the heat. She went back to the passenger’s side rear where Trent stood, looking into the backseat at Knox. He pulled his phone back out. “Should we call 911?” he asked Jocelyn. More quietly, he added, “He doesn’t seem drunk.”
Jocelyn climbed into the car and pulled Knox toward her so that he was sitting upright. She looked back at Trent. “Give him a minute. I’ll stay with him.”
Trent went back to the house, his stride brisk, cell phone pressed to his ear. Jocelyn sat next to Knox while he came to, blinking like a baby animal and adjusting the settings on his O2 tank with shaky hands. “I’m okay,” he said. “I’m okay. Let me stay. I need to stay.”
Jocelyn touched his forearm. “Knox,” she said. “You can sit here. You can’t come inside the house, but you can be here. I’ll leave it running so you don’t freeze your ass off. They’re waiting for him to come home. Then they’ll take him in.”