“Did you never look at the Wharton photos, Robyn?” Jane asked. “Was there anything about his past that seemed off or out of whack? Did his history ever seem to change?”
“I don’t know.” Robyn paused, tilted her head as if reflecting. “I mean, I accepted what he told me, there was no reason to check on anything, you know? We never looked up my college photos, either, come to think of it.” She peered at the computer screen and reached forward to click the mouse, zooming in on the photo. Clicked it even closer.
“Huh,” she said. “And now I’m going over everything he ever said, everything he ever told me.” She stared at the screen again, the photo now blown up to an extreme tight shot. “And now, looking closer? At everything? In a different way? I have to wonder. I do. What if none of it is true?”
“The only explanation is that Lewis Wilhoite lied about his own background,” Melissa interrupted, shaking her head. “And that means-and I’m sorry to say this, Robyn, but there’s a little girl involved-it means we have no idea who we’re dealing with.”
“My little girl,” Robyn’s voice twisted into a wail.
“And Daniel’s,” Melissa said. “And mine.” She pointed to the computer. “Jane, did you look him up anywhere else?”
“Not yet. But that’s a job for the police now, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely,” Melissa said.
Jane eyed the landline on the desk. “I’ll call-”
“No. No police.” Robyn crossed her arms over her chest, her Rapunzel hair curling over them. Jane saw Melissa meet her gaze, then take a step toward her.
“Robyn-” she said.
“No!” Robyn faced Melissa as if there were no one else in the room. “Lewis specifically said no police!”
She grabbed the phone from the desk, waved the handset at them in one all-encompassing accusatory arc.
“And who knows what he’ll do now. Right? Right? Or even where they are! Oh, my God. It was all made up. All that flat tire and garage and Twizzlers and I just believed it, it was so Lewis, but I never thought-but I see it now. I do! He’ll hide her forever. He’d never hurt her, ever, but he’ll, he’ll, change her hair, and change her name, just like he must have changed his name!”
“Robyn,” Jane began, wondering how to stop her from spiraling into hysteria. “I think we’ll be better off if we contact the police.”
But Robyn was crying now, ignoring Jane, full-on sobs racking her body, her shoulders shaking with the effort. Her breath came in gulps. “Because I am a fool, I’m so incredibly gullible, and I was so unhappy after Danny and I split up.” She looked at Melissa, then touched the phone pad, tracing the numbers with one finger, caressing, as if remembering something, a long-ago call, or a lost connection. “I never should have married him.”
Jane heard the anguish in the woman’s voice, felt her escalating grief, and knew she was powerless to help her. Crusading Jane, big-shot reporter, investigator extraordinaire. Well, she’d investigated, all right. And discovered the lie that made this family fall apart. It was better to know, she supposed. But the question was: What did they do now?
“It’s ten forty-five.” Robyn’s quavering voice was now barely a whisper. “Gracie’s gone.”
The greenroom was supposed to be private. And it was. Mostly. If you sat on the couch or in the big chair, like most people did, you only heard murmurs from the adjacent Chief of Staff’s office. But Tenley stood, her ear pressed to the door. If you got into the spot she and Lanna discovered through a series of increasingly successful experiments, you could hear just about every word that was said. Usually, it was pretty boring stuff, political arguments or street cleaning. She’d heard her mother swear, which she used to think was pretty funny. And she learned her mom was always in charge, even telling the mayor what to do. No wonder she and Dad had fought sometimes, now she thought about it. Dad was the dad, but Mom had the power. Or thought she did.
Tenley’s eyes welled. Guess Mom didn’t have enough power to stop what happened to Dad. Or to Lanna.
Maybe that’s why she seemed mad all the time.
Tenley tuned out, thinking about Dad, and Mom, and Lanna, and herself, and her life, and how a lot of things sucked. A man’s voice, kind of yelling, brought her back. Her mother’s voice was still unintelligible.
Who was her mom talking to, anyway? She listened as hard as she could.
“You have a subpoena for the video,” the man’s voice said, kind of angry. Video? “Don’t leave town,” she heard him say.
Tenley leaned against the dark green wall and stared up at the checkerboard of white acoustical tiles on the ceiling. That’s what the cops on TV told people when they were in trouble. Like if they were a suspect.
Like in a crime.
So that was weird.
42
“Don’t move.” DeLuca’s commanding voice cut through the radio static, louder than the city bus wheezing by on Congress Street, louder than the kid on the sidewalk wailing his little-kid complaint as a frowning parent yanked at his hand. Surprised, Jake shifted his cruiser into Park, clicked the handset to reply.
“DeLuca? You talking to me?”
“I’m right behind this guy now,” DeLuca said. “He’s stopped at the light, headed for North Street. Stand by, Harvard-Hewlitt’s coming right to you. Five mins, maybe four. Copy?”
“Copy.”
Jake buzzed his window up. He’d stuck his head out into the briny summer breeze freshening off the harbor, trying to stay awake. Hewlitt would be here in less than five minutes. No time to hit the Dunkin’ on the corner. Jake was running on fumes, relying on adrenaline instead of caffeine. This whole thing had started almost exactly twenty-four hours ago.
The Isuzu. Jake saw it turning right onto Union Street.
“Duck!” DeLuca ordered. “He’s coming right at you. If he sees you, we’re screwed.”
Jake snaked himself down behind the steering wheel, unclicking his seat belt, his T-shirt catching on the nubby upholstery. Raking his chest against the plastic wheel, he scooted down until his chin hit the rounded bottom. This was gonna hurt, but he wouldn’t be like this for long. Reaching up with his right hand, he tried to angle the rearview mirror so it faced in the general direction of the-got it.
The black car pulled forward at one of the meters, stopped, and in one motion eased into the white-lined spot. Jake watched the mirror image, grateful his cruiser was unmarked. If his back held out, this’d work.
“Got ’im?” DeLuca’s voice was a whisper.
“Got him,” Jake said.
“I’ll park at Area A,” D said.
The neighborhood police station up the block would be the perfect hiding place for DeLuca’s cruiser, lined up with other marked cars.
Squinting now as the noonday sun bounced off his side mirror and into his eyes, Jake realized that Hewlitt hadn’t gotten out of his van. He remained sitting in the front seat. On his phone? Jake couldn’t tell.
“He’s still in the car,” Jake said to the radio. “What’s he waiting for? Or who?”
“You’ll soon find out,” DeLuca said. “That’s why you’re Boston’s finest.”
Jake didn’t feel so fine. His back already ached, his knees were bent in an impossible way, and the glare of the sun interfered with his line of sight. Ducking had initially seemed a good idea, a way to protect Jake’s identity in a crucial moment, but for the long haul, there’d have to be a plan B.