Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
“That name keeps cropping up,” Dan muttered as he got into the passenger seat. “Do we bring him in?”
Gary huffed. “For what? Visiting Wyler? No, not until we have more proof.”
“Well, Wyler might not have been involved in Cheryl’s death, but as for Gianni DiFanetti?” Dan got his phone out of his pocket and scrolled to where he’d written his notes. “It seems to me the proof is building up.”
“Go on, then—present your evidence.” Gary switched on the engine and pulled out of the parking space.
Dan studied his notes. “Okay. Between ’91 and ’94, Gianni’s company procured the materials for the tunnel that collapsed and where a headless body turned up.
In 2007, he asks Wyler to put his hand up to the murder of a headless victim.
Then in 2016, he’s heard arguing with his employee James Sebring, who ends up dead. ”
“And no witnesses other than Chris Reed to put him at the scene. No link to Cheryl—you know, the case we’re investigating?”
“So we do nothing?” That felt so wrong.
“No, we investigate our case, and when we’ve resolved it—or not—we pass on all we’ve learned.”
Dan couldn’t help feeling there had to be more they could do.
“We’ve got a list of Cheryl’s friends. Let’s start by interviewing them. Maybe they can tell us more about her.” Gary glanced at him. “And I think we should begin with Senator William Cain.”
Dan blinked. “You don’t think he had anything to do with her death, do you?”
Gary shrugged. “They were close, her dad said. The senator reported her missing, tried to locate her, offered a reward. We need to know if there’s anything more.”
Dan googled the senator and came up with an image of a man in maybe his sixties, with dark eyes and silver hair, a little gray still here and there. In his navy-blue suit, white shirt, and pale blue tie, arms folded, mouth locked in a smile, he looked every inch the politician. “How old is he?”
“Sixty-four, I think.”
“What’s he like?”
“He’s a Republican. He’s also popular, except with his party.”
“Why not?”
“In the past he’s voted in favor of stuff like gun laws, gambling restrictions, longer sentences for supplying drugs….”
Dan gazed at the image with interest. “Are you sure he’s a Republican?”
Gary chuckled. “See if you can find a number for his office. They’ll know where we can find him.”
Dan’s thumbs got busy, and it wasn’t long before he’d found the number. A pleasant-sounding woman told him the senator was at his Boston residence in Louisburg Square, but that he would be returning to the family home on the coast on Saturday.
“Can we make an appointment to see the senator?” he asked her, after explaining they were with the police department.
“One moment, please.”
Dan held the phone to his chest. “Just what are you hoping to discover?”
“I don’t know if we will discover anything,” Gary confessed. “But I’m not going to leave him off the list simply because he’s a senator. We need to talk to everyone who knew her.”
Dan put the phone to his ear just in time to hear that pleasant voice again. “The senator says he’ll see you tomorrow at two o’clock.” She reeled off the address.
Dan thanked her, then hung up. He went back to the image he’d found.
Gary glanced across. “Yeah, that’s him.”
Dan studied the senator’s face. He was clean-shaven, his brow smooth. His most striking feature was undoubtedly his eyes, however. Then he noticed the senator’s hands, tucked out of sight.
Why does he hide them?
Friday, July 20, 2018
Dan gazed up at the townhouse that served as the senator’s office. “Am I right in thinking this is a much-sought-after address?”
Gary nodded. “Beacon Hill is the place to live, if you can afford it.”
The house stood on the sunny side of Louisburg Square, an imposing federal-style residence comprising at least five levels that Gary could see.
In front of the second-floor full-length windows was a black iron balcony.
All the townhouses in that row had one, and in each case the pattern of the scrollwork was different.
Black shutters stood out against the red brick, and eight steps led up to the gleaming black-painted front door surrounded by glass decorated with thin black lead strips.
They climbed the steps, and Gary raised the heavy brass door knocker. The door opened to reveal a woman dressed in dark blue, her short gray hair neatly framing her face, gold-rimmed glasses perched on her nose.
She smiled. “I’m Eleanor, the senator’s housekeeper. Mr. Lane, his personal assistant, will be down shortly. He’ll take you to the senator.”
Gary thanked her, and they stepped into the light hallway. A black antique chest of drawers, decorated with flowers painted on its sides and front, sat against the wall, two tall lamps on top. A cream-and-white polka-dot rug covered the wooden floor.
Eleanor gestured to the rear of the house. “I was about to take the senator some coffee. He’s asked that you join him in the small sitting room. If you would just wait here….”
“Of course.”
She gave them another smile, then walked sedately along the hallway. No sooner was she out of sight than a young man appeared, tall and slim, with long brown hair tied at the back in a ponytail.
“Gentlemen? I’m Curtis Lane, the senator’s assistant. If you’d like to follow me?”
They joined him at the staircase that swept up in an elegant curve. Dan couldn’t help but notice the abundance of art. There were paintings in the hallway, on the wall as they climbed the stairs.
On the second floor, Curtis paused at a wide oak door and knocked. “Senator?”
“Come in.”
Curtis opened the door, and they entered a narrow, high-ceilinged room, its walls covered in a pale wood, in contrast to the dark varnished floorboards.
Long floral curtains dropped from almost ceiling height, and a cream rug inset with red roses covered part of the floor.
Bookcases filled the alcoves on either side of the huge fireplace, which was framed by two columns of warm marble.
Two cream armchairs faced each other, one below the window, and against the wall sat a two-seater couch in red velvet.
In the middle of them was a round wooden table, its shapely legs giving it a delicate appearance.
Senator Cain stood beside the fireplace, and Dan realized the image he’d seen online did not do the politician justice. In his dark suit, white shirt, and no hint of jewelry apart from his wedding ring and another ring on his right hand, the man exuded power.
“Detective Mitchell and Mr. Porter?” He greeted them with a polite nod. “Gentlemen, you’re fortunate to have caught me. I’m only here today because I had a meeting that couldn’t be rearranged.”
They crossed the floor to join him, and Gary held out his hand.
The senator gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t shake hands at the moment.” He revealed his palms, and Dan winced.
“You have my sympathies. My mother suffers from eczema too.” Senator Cain’s hands appeared red and painful.
“I don’t suffer from it most of the time. Usually only when I’m stressed.” He sighed. “Which happens to be my present state, unfortunately.” His eyes sparkled. “Not that my stress levels have anything to do with a visit from detectives.”
“It was good of you to see us, Senator,” Gary said in a polite tone. “I know you must be extremely busy.”
Senator Cain waved his hand. “Yes, but you said on the phone that you needed to see me. And to be frank, I was curious.” He gestured to the couch. “Please, have a seat.”
“We’re part of a cold case team, and we’re investigating the death of Cheryl Somers,” Gary explained as they sat.
Senator Cain’s breathing hitched. “The police are reopening the case? After all this time?” Dan arched his eyebrows, and the senator plunged ahead.
“Please, don’t take my words as a complaint.
I couldn’t be happier if the police are looking into this again.
I simply thought her death had been swept under the carpet. ”
Dan didn’t miss the tremor in his voice. “When did you see her last?”
“At the end of June 1992. I should explain that this is when the family decamps to the Fluke for the whole of July and August. It’s a tradition.”
Gary frowned. “The Fluke?”
Senator Cain smiled. “It’s the name of our house on Cape Cod.
Nantucket, to be exact. It’s been in the family for decades.
We usually stay there until after Labor Day.
All the family comes: our children, grandchildren.
In fact, that’s where I should be now.” He paused.
“Okay, back to your question. I saw Cheryl before we left our house in Lenox for the coast, so yes, that would make it June. When we returned in early September, her father told me he hadn’t seen her for a week.
That was when I called the police.” His brow furrowed.
“So she’s a cold case? Good. I was never happy about how this was left. ”
“Her father worked for your family for many years,” Gary observed.
“Pete? Yes, I remember him from when I was a child.” The senator smiled.
“When I was younger, I worked one summer on a construction site. My father’s idea.
He wanted to give me a grounding, to see how most people lived.
By the time summer was over, I’d become pretty handy with a saw and a hammer, and Pete put me to work around the house in Lenox. ” He chuckled. “My father loved that.”
“When did you first meet Cheryl?” Dan asked.
Senator Cain tilted his head to one side. “I think that was when she was seven or eight years old and I was in my late teens. Of course that was before she transitioned.” The word slipped easily from his lips.
Dan smiled. “Your attitude does you credit, Senator.” He’d gone there with fixed views about politicians, having grown up with his dad’s maxim playing in his head: “You can always tell when a politician is lying—his lips move.”
Senator Cain was making a very favorable first impression.