Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
“I’ve given you a lot of leeway, Miss Evans,” said Stettner quietly.
“I’ve never given you a hard time about staying on cases, even when it was completely inappropriate for you to be involved.
I’ve taken all kinds of hell from the men in my department who think I’m a fool for having any kind of camaraderie with a reporter, especially one who’s a woman.
You should know I’ve never minded what they said behind my back, because I saw something special in you.
I knew you weren’t just some reporter out for a good piece of gossip, but a real professional I could trust.” His expression hardened.
“Today, you’ve proven that I was wrong about you. ”
Vesper felt as though she’d been slapped.
“What you just did in there, trespassing into a police station, that’s a crime, Miss Evans.
Speaking to a witness without going through the proper protocol could very well have just jeopardized this entire case, and made weeks of this department’s diligent work worthless.
I cannot begin to tell you how disappointed I am in you. ”
Vesper’s chest tightened. She felt as though all the air in her lungs had been forced out, and she couldn’t draw new breath.
“I’m sorry, Chief Stettner.” She lowered her gaze. “Truly, I am. If you need to arrest me, please don’t make any exceptions on my behalf. Whatever happens, I deserve it.”
She didn’t look up at the police officer, but after a moment he blew out a breath.
“Go home, Miss Evans,” he said quietly. “Now.”
Vesper didn’t need to be told twice. She turned, and immediately headed toward the sidewalk. She’d almost reached the last one when she heard Chief Stettner’s voice again.
“And Miss Evans?”
She turned. He was still standing at the top of the stairs, his arms crossed.
“If I catch you near this station, or interfering with my case again, next time I will arrest you.”
Vesper walked down Basalton’s streets slowly, her mind a jumbled tangle of thoughts and emotions.
In the end, she hadn’t been able to help Maximilian.
He was still in jail, arrested for a crime she was now almost certain that he didn’t commit.
Every time she thought of the way Chief Stettner had looked at her—with anger and, worse, disappointment—she felt as though she’d been punched in the gut.
Her rapport with the police chief meant a great deal to her, not just because it helped her with her work, but because Frederick Stettner was someone she genuinely respected.
Even now, she wasn’t sure that what she’d done had been worth losing his trust. Still, a singular thought wouldn’t leave her mind.
Francis Gladwell. Frankie Everett.
She remembered what Nick Bartolucci had said.
Francis—originally Frankie—had had a rich businessman father who hadn’t claimed him.
She racked her mind and realized that Stanley had given her a major lead without her realizing it.
He’d told her that Francis had once spent his free time visiting Basalton’s nicer neighborhoods, dreaming of buying their mother a house.
Vesper pursed her lips as she kept walking.
She didn’t think that Stanley had been lying to her, but she now saw things with a new angle.
What if Frankie Everett hadn’t just been visiting Basalton’s posh neighborhoods to dream?
What if he’d been looking for someone? Her pulse quickened as a theory formed, and she started to run.
By the time she reached the library, there was a sharp stitch in Vesper’s ribs.
She banged on the front door, desperate, but no one answered. Her eyes cut to the sign affixed to the wall.
LIbrARY HOURS: 9 TO 5 PM WEEKDAYS. CLOSED SUNDAYS.
She swore. She could try to come back tomorrow, but even that might be too late. She’d just started down the stairs when—
“Vesper?”
Vesper swiveled. Ida Hinkle was standing at the top of the stairs, her spectacles resting on her forehead. She looked slightly bewildered. “Was that you banging on the door? I thought someone was trying to break in.”
Relief surged through Vesper. “Ida. I need to ask you a favor. Please.”
The librarian’s brows rose. “Come in.” She gestured, and Vesper darted inside. The curtains were drawn, and the main room was dim. Ida locked the door again, then faced her. “What’s wrong?”
Vesper took a deep breath. “I need to see the Book of Vital Records one more time.”
The confusion on Ida’s face was plain, but she nodded. “This way.”
They returned to the library’s special collection room, and Vesper watched as the librarian pulled the old tome from the shelf and laid it before her. Nervous energy arrowed through her body as she opened the book to its center, paused, then said:
“Franklin Everett.”
The Book of Vital Records came to life, turning its pages as it had the first and second time she’d used it. Vesper held her breath as she watched names appear and disappear on the pages. This was, she knew, her very last chance, her last lead.
At last, the Book of Vital Records stilled, stopping on a page with only a few lines of text. Vesper peered down and read.
NAME: Franklin John Everett
MOTHER: Mary Grace Grier (Deceased)
FATHER: John Everett Oelrich
DATE OF BIRTH: 18 January 1856
DATE OF DEATH: None
Vesper stared at the page for several seconds, her heart thundering in her chest.
At last, she knew who’d killed Francis Gladwell.