10
K eeping up with Florence Brown turned out to be a challenge. The woman could drink a sailor under the table. Their overnight stay lingered into the wee hours of the morning. When they did manage to crawl out of bed, they indulged in an expensive breakfast before dropping off Florence at the airport. After sticking around to make certain she boarded the plane, they realized Santa Barbara was a distraction they hadn’t needed.
But easing Graeme’s mind after seeing the “crazed fan” fly off to another continent meant scoring brownie points with his father. Graeme didn’t even complain about paying for the woman’s American adventure so long as she left him alone in the future.
They spent the trip back to Pelican Pointe strategizing their next move in the Heywood case.
Twenty-four hours had passed since Lucien had replied to Truthseeker22. Since waking up, he had refreshed his inbox on the hour, hoping to see a notification that their mysterious poster had left a comment.
Each hour that ticked by without a reply was the realization they wouldn’t get one.
“We should’ve heard something by now,” Lucien announced when they finally reached home. “This waiting is ridiculous. We can’t afford to sit here and do nothing.”
“What do you suggest? We walk into the Santa Cruz PD and accuse them of having a connection to a string of murders that occurred in 1999. Or maybe ask if anyone there has left online clues about Jill Vosberg’s murder.”
“Very funny.”
“Don’t you think Jade and Birk have been monitoring each thread? If Birk had discovered anything new about the poster or Keith Shepherd, he’d have reached out by now. He did say that it might take him a while to pinpoint the IP address. Practice a little patience, will you?”
Lucien dumped their bags in his office and unpacked his laptop. “Keith Shepherd is our primary suspect. I don’t think he’d be dropping hints online, especially not on forums related to solving the cold cases. The poster is playing a virtual dance with us, a game of cat and mouse. Let’s bug Birk and see if he’s come up with anything yet.”
“Why not do your own background checks on the victims? We know Bethany was interested in the Upland and Vosberg cases. But somewhere, there’s a third victim. ID that one. Put a name to it instead of waiting for Birk to get in touch. I have work to do upstairs.”
He watched her disappear down the hallway and heard her footsteps overhead on the landing.
“She has a point,” he muttered as he began to research Santa Cruz murders from 1999 with similar characteristics.
Very few murders occurred during that year. But the murders of three women stood out. In addition to the Upland murder in April and the Vosberg murder in June, there was a third that fell into the same category. In October of that same year, Cynthia Zepp had been a twenty-seven-year-old single mom who needed extra money for Christmas presents for her two boys. To cover expenses, she’d taken a second job working part-time as a night clerk at a local convenience store while her mother watched the kids. A month later, Zepp disappeared from the twenty-four-hour food mart during her shift two days before Thanksgiving. Eight days later, a utility worker found her nude body dumped by the side of a county road. She’d been strangled and stabbed.
“This has to be the third victim,” Lucien decided as his cell phone rang. He glanced at the screen to see Birk calling. “What’s up? I think I know who the third victim is.”
“Great. You figured out it was Cynthia Zepp, right?”
“You already knew that?”
“Unlike you, I’ve been working instead of traipsing off to spend the night at some fancy schmancy hotel. Did you know Jill Vosberg had a younger sister?”
“I didn’t know that.”
“See? I found out Trish Vosberg’s been a cop on the police force for twelve years, a sergeant no less, at the Sheriff’s Department. And Truthseeker22’s IP address tracks back to a house owned by her.”
“Okay, that’s impressive.” He explained how he’d left a reply to every comment made by Truthseeker22 on various blogs. “I’ve been sitting here waiting for her to post a response.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath. From what I can tell from her background, Trish is a savvy cop. She probably saw through your strategy upfront. Right now, she’s in wait-and-see mode, knowing you’re trying to pull her out into the open. She won’t fall for it without determining how serious you are. I suggest you contact her directly and arrange a meeting where you can lay your cards on the table.”
“Why would she agree to that? And wouldn’t she want to know how I connected her to Truthseeker22?”
“I doubt that will matter to her. Why? Because she wants more than anything else to solve her sister’s murder. That’s what all the posts are about. Believe me, she’ll want to meet you if she thinks you hold a piece of the puzzle. And she probably already has a suspect at the top of her list. Is it Keith Shepherd? Who knows? That’s why you should ask her directly. Get her to tell you what she knows.”
“You mean instead of messing around waiting for her to reply?”
“Yeah. Why do that? I’ll look into potential places to meet where Jade and I have your back, where we can watch from the wings.”
Another holding pattern, Lucien decided. Maybe Brogan was right. He could be impatient. “I’ll hold off making contact until you suggest a meeting place.”
“Jade knows all the offbeat coffee shops in the downtown area. I’ll text you a location soon.”
He heard a click in his ear, realizing Birk was done talking. “Bye to you, too,” he muttered, turning his attention back to the homicides. Upland, Vosberg, and Zepp all died by strangulation and had multiple stab wounds somewhere on their bodies. He studied the details. They all lived in close proximity to each other, with definite geographical statistics worth noting.
Deep in thought, he heard arguing coming from upstairs. Brogan seemed to be having a heated discussion with someone. Her voice reverberated off the walls. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard her so angry. Even the dogs tilted their heads to listen.
Though he could only make out every other word, he got the gist of the conversation. Something about a birth mother, something about Rachel raising her. She rattled off a series of questions. How had that come to be without blood ties to the Brinell family? Had Delia known all this time? Had she been keeping secrets? Why had Rory pawned her off on strangers to raise in the first place?
Brogan kept tossing out so many questions that it became difficult for Lucien to keep up.
After Brogan demanded answers, he heard her slam the phone down and storm onto the landing. He shoved away from his desk and met her halfway on the stairs.
“You can forget about making the trip to Connecticut,” Brogan announced. “I’ll call the charter service and cancel. It’s clear to me that Cordelia Brinell Gregson has no plans to admit to the truth any time soon. She threatened to fire me as CEO, then when that didn’t get the response she wanted, she threatened to disown me, to write me out of the will. Who cares about stupid stuff like that when I was never a real part of the family in the first place? I asked her if my birth mother was still alive. Do you know what her flip answer was? She insisted that the DNA was wrong. Then proceeded to remind me that Rachel had died in a plane crash. I explained that I wasn’t demeaning the time I spent with Rachel or her, only that I wanted to know the truth. That’s when things went off the rails. Is it wrong to want to know how Rachel ended up raising me? Is it wrong to ask how that happened? Is it wrong to want to know where my dad fit into all this, other than acting as the sperm donor who occasionally visited me until Rachel died? Who told him it was time to show up and claim me as his anyway? How did he know? Where was Delia in all this subterfuge?”
“All great questions,” Lucien said as he tried to give her time to vent.
“I have a right to know the truth about my biological mother.”
“Of course you do. But who’s running the company until all this is settled?”
“That’s up to the board of directors. I should call my lawyer because I’m sure Delia will call hers. Or better still, I’ll sit back and wait for my severance package to show up.”
“First of all, Delia will not want this information leaking out to anyone else. You can bet she won’t take it to the next level. If she won’t talk to you about it, she won’t use it to replace you at the helm.”
“That’s probably true,” Brogan decided. “She’s forgotten that it’s not up to her to replace me. It’s a rather complicated process. That woman can be so infuriating.”
Lucien watched her pace back and forth, her frustration evident. He could see the turmoil in her eyes, the questions weighing on her mind. She had always been a fighter and faced challenges head-on, but this was different. Finding out her roots was about as personal as it got.
As Brogan's footsteps echoed through the house, Lucien’s phone buzzed with a new text message from Birk. He quickly glanced at the screen to see the suggested meeting place for their upcoming rendezvous with Trish Vosberg.
Jade suggests meeting at The Muse on 5th Street tomorrow afternoon after the noon rush is over . It’s an old-school coffee shop where artists, musicians, and local theater people hang out. Contact Trish and dangle the idea. I’ll send you all the numbers I found for her online.
Lucien felt anticipation surging through his veins at the thought of coming face-to-face with Trish, knowing their meeting might bring them a step closer to finding a killer. But he also couldn’t shake off the turmoil brewing between Brogan and Delia. “What do you want to do now?”
“What can I do if no one is willing to talk to me?”
“We haven’t tried grilling Indigo to get their take. Or Jack.”
“I’m not sure they’d have any helpful information. None of them ever acted like they knew Rachel that well other than to say she was beautiful. Let’s face it. I may never know the truth.”
“It doesn’t hurt to get the band together in one place and ask them directly.” He held up his phone so she could read the text message. “That’s what Birk and Jade suggest we do with Trish Vosberg.”
“Who’s Trish Vosberg?”
“Birk thinks she’s Truthseeker22. She’s Jill Vosberg’s sister. And she’s a cop.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Brogan said. But as quickly as she considered the case, she morphed back to her own problems. “I’ll send Jack an email. It’s not a bad idea—to go directly to the source—and ask what they know, what they saw. In our case, who was Rory sleeping with during that Swedish leg of the tour when they were doing multiple concert dates in the major cities—Stockholm, Malmo, Gothenburg, and Uppsala? I researched it. They did sixteen concerts overall. I should send out emails to Nigel and Gordon, too.”
“I’ll ask Dad what he remembers. But don’t get your hopes up. It was almost thirty years ago. I wouldn’t count on any of them remembering anything too specific.”
“But it’s worth a try. Any tidbit is better than what we have now. Like reaching out to Jill’s sister is a first step, so is this.”
“But a call out of the blue from a total stranger asking about her sister’s murder?” Lucien queried. “I’d have my doubts and suspicions. I’m sure her cop instincts will kick in.”
“Think of it this way. What do we have to lose?” Brogan suggested. “It’s another line of inquiry.”
Taking a deep breath, Lucien dialed Trish’s cell phone number. He got her voicemail and left a detailed message about who he was and why he’d called. He did the same thing with the other two numbers at work and home, dangling a cryptic reason to call back.
“There. It’s up to her to return the calls or not. Now it’s time to reach out to Dad.”
While Brogan drafted the emails to Jack, Nigel, and Gordon, urging them to recall any details from the weeks of that tour, he punched in his father’s number. He knew it was a long shot, but Brogan seemed to be counting on at least one of them remembering something to fill the gap she needed.
Graeme was his grumpy self even after explaining the reason for the call. “Why are you always asking questions about the past? Why can’t you ever leave it alone? You and Brogan had exceptional lives. Why can’t you be happy with that?”
“That’s one way to look at it. But you knew your real mother and father, right? What if you hadn’t known who they were?”
“That’s the trouble with this DNA business. You kids won’t leave well enough alone. If you think I paid attention to every woman Rory slept with during our tour dates, you don’t know your old man very well. I had my own thing going on.”
“If it means anything, we’re asking Nigel and Gordon the same questions. Even Jack.”
“Jack? I’m not sure he came on board until later. By then, we were back in the States to work on more songs, getting ready for another release. You’re talking about our first European tour to promote our second album that went platinum.”
“That’s a pretty good memory.”
Graeme released a long sigh in frustration. “Fine. Let me think about it, and I’ll get back to you. Unless you’re determined to get a half-assed answer this minute.”
“No, we can wait.”
That ended the call.
But five minutes later, Lucien’s phone rang. It was Graeme, his voice sounding nostalgic and wistful. “I do remember one young woman in Gothenburg. She couldn’t have been more than twenty, possibly younger.”
Lucien put the call on speaker. “And?”
“After the last encore of the night, she left with Rory. Next thing I know, she’s packed her bags and she’s boarding the jet to come with us. She sat beside him on the plane ride as we flew to Dusseldorf. I’m not sure she spoke a single word of English, but Rory didn’t seem to mind since every bit of her was drop-dead gorgeous.”
“What happened to her? Do you remember her name?”
“Britta. I have no idea what her last name was. All I know is that she claimed to be a model. Is Brogan listening?”
“Yeah. I put you on speakerphone. She’s standing right here. Why?”
“As I recall, Britta stayed with Rory for about four, maybe five months. One night in Madrid, after we finished our gig, Rory told me that she’d left, just packed up, and headed back to Sweden with a woman named Rachel. I assume that’s the same Rachel Brinell that Brogan knew as her mother. There was some talk that Britta had gotten pregnant. Rory himself told me that. But it could’ve been Rachel. That was thirty years ago. I don’t recall the exact conversation. He was probably talking about Rachel at the time.”
“But you aren’t sure? Did he ever follow up with Britta once she left?” Brogan wanted to know.
“Sure he did. He spent time in Sweden after the tour ended. The next thing I know, a cable arrives with the news. He’s telling me he has a daughter. He never mentioned anything about Britta. Instead, he kept talking about Rachel Brinell. I just assumed that Rory had slept with Rachel, too, because Rachel brought the baby back to the States with her, right back to her snooty Connecticut society roots. Rory never mentioned Britta again. At least, not to me.”
“You never asked what happened to Britta?”
“No,” Graeme said, his voice gruff. “What was I supposed to do? Stick my nose in where it didn’t belong? Ask a bunch of nosy questions. Your dad stepped in when Rachel passed, didn’t he? When Rachel’s plane went down, he stepped up to raise you, right?”
“Yes, he did. But why did it take Rachel’s death before I went to live with him? I remember some of the nasty custody fights between those two. I remember her threatening him with all kinds of things. Why would she argue so vehemently about custody when I didn’t belong to her?”
“I can’t answer that. Why stick my nose into the details? Rory and I had enough to fight about without me sticking my nose into his personal business. But I know who could answer your questions. What about Delia, Rachel’s mother? She was always hanging around here on the West Coast after Rachel died. You spent some of your summers back east, but she also stayed here quite a bit. All that told me was that you belonged to Rachel. Who was I to question anything? Delia certainly treated you like her granddaughter. You can’t deny that. She was always there for you. And Rachel left you with a fat trust fund, didn’t she? That was all I needed to know. All those things add up to some mistake with the DNA.”
Lucien felt the need to intervene. “It’s not about the money, Dad. It’s more than that. Besides, we don’t believe the DNA test was wrong. Delia won’t entertain a discussion about it either.”
“She’s probably insulted that you’d bring it up,” Graeme pointed out.
“Be that as it may,” Brogan began, “I’m not trying to hurt Delia. I want someone to tell me the truth. That’s it. And since you remember Rory’s time spent with Britta, maybe Gordon and Nigel will add some details to it. Maybe they’ll recall a last name, something I can use to find her.”
“Good luck with that,” Graeme grumbled. “Without a last name, you’ll likely hit a brick wall. If you belong to Britta, then ask yourself why she hasn’t contacted you all these years? Why did she never get in touch with Rory?”
“Exactly,” Brogan replied, shoving her hair to the side. “That’s why I need to know what happened to her.”