28
Conor had watched Kate coming down the hill from the hospital cemetery toward the Maynard-King dock. She was almost running; she seemed excited, as if she couldn’t wait to tell him some news.
“It’s all interesting,” Tom said when Kate had finished reporting on everything she had seen and heard at Tyler’s grave. “We have suspicions about this place, and now about this young woman—Jennifer—but what does it add up to?”
“Jennifer knew about Maeve—I’m sure of it,” Kate said. “And she knew our wedding was canceled.”
“But that doesn’t prove anything definitive,” Tom said.
“She knew about Suzanne. And she was secretive about it.”
“Another piece of the puzzle,” Conor said.
“We have plenty of pieces,” Tom said. “Now we need the whole picture on the front of the puzzle box.”
“She admitted that Suzanne did the calligraphy on the note. And she calls Belinda ‘Belle’ and says she came here. I felt . . .” Conor watched Kate pause and gather her thoughts.
“I felt as if Jennifer has been through it—whatever is going on here. The other day, she asked if Sam was ‘one of us,’ ‘all the girls.’”
“She takes care of the cemetery?” Conor asked.
“Yes. I have the feeling she was a patient—and either she doesn’t want to leave, or they won’t let her.
” Conor felt Kate’s gaze on him. “She keeps a case full of notes and jewelry that people leave on Tyler’s grave.
Really expensive things. She mentioned ‘diamond love’ and giving back—I guess because he took such good care of them when they were here. ”
“Sounds as if she really opened up to you,” Conor said.
“She started to, then she shut down. Do you think the gifts are from the girls, the ones who were aboard Psyche?” Kate asked.
“Why would anyone subjected to that kind of treatment on Psyche want to give gifts to the person who did it?” Tom asked.
“We don’t know that Tyler did anything,” Conor said. “The hospital seems like ground zero, but we don’t have the evidence to prove he was involved, whether hands on or even in the background. Since the crimes are still occurring, someone else is calling the shots.”
“That’s all true, but I think your question is really good, Tom,” Kate said. “Victims would give gifts to a captor because they have been conditioned to love him. You saw the website: ‘We’ll love you till you can love yourself.’”
Conor gazed at her, knowing that her wisdom on the subject came from something she had experienced when she was only sixteen.
“Can’t Joe get a warrant for the hospital?” Kate asked.
“Not yet,” Conor said. “There’s not probable cause.
We have a lot of threads, but that’s all.
We’ll see what Joe gets back from the crime lab, as far as evidence from Psyche and the house on the island, and that might help for a warrant for those places.
We still don’t have enough for Maynard-King. ”
“Have we defined the crime?” Tom asked.
“Take your pick,” Conor said. “Murder, trafficking, kidnapping, unlawful confinement, sexual assault, torture.”
“But who is doing this?” Kate asked. “Say the girls are taken from here, from Maynard-King, who plans where they will go, what they will do? Who gives those orders? There has to be one person in charge.”
“We’ll talk with Darla Vandeveer,” Tom said. “If she’s in charge of the corporation, she’ll have paperwork on the boat, house, and hospital. That will be a good start.”
Conor nodded his head. They stood on the dock, looking at the boats tied beside it. Were these vessels involved with 1740? One was a vintage eighteen-foot varnished wood Chris-Craft, the other was a million-dollar Hinckley Picnic Boat 37, a beauty with a wide deck and comfortable cabin.
The Chris-Craft didn’t have a name; the Hinckley’s was Zémire.
Tom had checked the whaler’s Rhode Island registration and the Hinckley’s documentation.
No surprise, Zémire was owned by Leprince de Beaumont Associates.
The Chris-Craft’s ownership was more straightforward—its owner was Darla Vandeveer.
Because it was a small, open runabout, with no cabin, there wasn’t much to hide.
“Are there handcuffs in Zémire too?” Kate asked, standing beside the larger boat, trying to peer through the windows. One was slid open a crack, but the curtains were closed. “Anyone in there?” she called.
“We can’t just board her,” Tom said.
“Why not? You boarded Psyche,” Kate said.
“That was different. The door had been forced open, and there were blood spots on the deck,” Conor said. “Exigent circumstances. We don’t know anything about this boat.”
“Conor, Zémire et Azor is an opera based on Beauty and the Beast,” Kate said. “The boat names are connected. What if they have someone on board here? What if it’s Maeve?”
Tom tapped Kate’s arm and beckoned her away from Zémire. Conor followed, knowing Tom wanted to move away from that open window, in case anyone was inside and was listening.
“It’s possible, Kate, but we don’t have any real reason to think so,” Tom said.
“With Psyche out of commission, they need a new boat, right?” Kate asked.
“They probably do, if we’re right about the vessels being used in a trafficking operation,” Conor said. “And I’m going to tell Joe about it, and he’ll have the whole Maynard-King property searched. And he’ll question the directors and medical staff.”
Kate kept staring at the Hinckley, as if her gaze could solve the mystery, protect anyone who might be on board.
“I’m going to assign a team to watch this dock,” Tom said. “And we’ll tell Joe everything we’ve learned today and see where he wants to go.”
“What about talking to Darla?” Kate asked. “Jennifer told me where her office is.”
“Let’s go,” Conor said.
They left the dock and drove through the sprawling and manicured grounds of Maynard-King.
Conor noticed the gardens, the graceful trees, the large white building with columns on either side of the door, flowers blooming in planters beside the steps, a wide porch.
It seemed peaceful, a sanctuary. But through years of police work, he knew that secrets hid everywhere, and sometimes the most apparently beautiful people and places were not what they seemed.
They parked outside a small white house that looked as if it belonged in a neighborhood, not on the grounds of a psychiatric hospital.
Considering that it was just past five p.m., he wasn’t sure the office would be open, but he knocked on the door, and it was answered by a young woman looking very businesslike in slim black pants and a jacket.
“May I help you?” she asked with a wide smile.
“We’d like to see Darla Vandeveer,” Conor said.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No. I called earlier, and I’m just following up.”
“You’re the one who left the message?” she asked.
“Yes,” Conor said.
She smiled. “I got it. I’m Gabrielle, Darla’s assistant, so I check her voicemail and relay it to her. She’s not here.”
“When will she be here?” Conor asked. “It’s very important that I speak with her.”
“Can I ask what this is about?” she asked.
“I have some questions about the 1740 property owned in trust by Leprince de Beaumont Associates. LP de BA,” he said, watching for Gabrielle’s reaction.
He saw a small furrow crease her brow when she heard him mention the trust’s name.
“The operator told me Darla would be the best person to talk to.”
“The hospital operator?” she asked. “Hmm. I’ll have to speak to her. She’s new.”
“Why, she’s not supposed to put calls through?”
“We’re just careful with information,” Gabrielle said. Her smile had gone briefly away but came back strong. “It’s very sensitive, dealing with institute matters. I’m sure you can understand that. We’re a psychiatric facility, and privacy is a main concern.”
“Of course,” Conor said. He thought her smile was due to training, not a friendly feeling. There was something pacifying, manipulative about it, a bit like a magic trick to distract her visitors from their quest. “You have my number. Please ask her to call me when she can.”
Monday, July 5; 6:00 p.m.
Sam sat on the Club Room terrace, listening to the waves and feeling anxiety build in her chest. The table had been reserved by Anne and Mike for dinner, but neither they nor the rest of their party had arrived yet. Sam and Leo Kennedy were the first to be seated.
Brian came over to take drink orders. Leo asked for a Glenlivet on the rocks, and Sam said she’d stick with water.
Her stomach was flipping. It felt incredibly weird to be sitting in this beautiful place while Maeve was missing.
She could be anywhere, something terrible could be happening to her. She looked at Leo.
“Edward and Nola are your investigators, right?” she asked.
“They have their own work, but yes—sometimes.”
“What kind of things do they investigate?” she asked.
“Matters concerning my cases. My clients. In a criminal case, for example, they will investigate witnesses or other potential suspects. Sometimes after a deposition, when the witness has given answers under oath, Edward and Nola will investigate to see how truthful, or untruthful, the testimony actually was. They trace family connections, property ownership, financial irregularities. And Nola has a specialty in profiling and criminal psychology.”
Sam nodded, remembering the work Nola talked about when she went to the prison. “Do they ever look for missing persons?” she asked.
“They don’t do that sort of work for me,” Leo said. “Why do you ask, Sam?”
“Haven’t you heard about Maeve?” Sam asked.
“Yes, of course,” Leo said. “Forgive me—I didn’t realize you were referring to her. You haven’t heard from her?”
“No.”
“Are you close?”
“Well, not really,” Sam said. “But we know each other. She works for Kate. She and Kate adore each other—Maeve is almost like another niece. They work with each other every day.”
“Might Maeve have gone off on her own?” Leo asked. “Maybe she feels upset about the wedding being called off—especially if she really cares about Kate. Not only that, but she was also the first to find the murder victim. It makes sense that she would have to get away.”
Sam ran that through her mind and shook her head.
“I can see the wheels turning,” Leo said. “Do you want to tell me what you’re thinking?”
“Just that . . . I don’t think she left on her own,” Sam said.
“That’s troubling,” Leo said. “Have you talked to Conor and Joe about it? Let the police in on the situation?”
“Yes,” Sam said. “They’re investigating. I think it’s all connected. Kate and Conor do too.”
“What’s connected?”
Sam found herself wanting to tell him all of it. “Belinda’s murder and Maeve being taken.”
“Taken?” Leo asked.
“Yes,” Sam said. “It all goes together, Leo. It’s crazy, but it all has to do with the number 1740.
That was stenciled on the door of Suzanne’s truck, and it links up to this doctor—Jonathan Tyler, a psychiatrist at a hospital in Narragansett—who was murdered in the exact same way as Belinda.
Maeve, Kate, and I went to the hospital where he worked .
. . and we found a note . . . and it’s gone, along with Maeve. I think it’s the reason she . . .”
She was interrupted by Brian dropping off their drinks just as Mike, Anne, and the Aldriches approached the table.
“You can’t stop there,” Leo said to Sam. “Keep going.”
“What have we missed?” Anne asked.
“The most extraordinary story,” Leo said. “Connections we never dreamed of. Edward and Nola—Sam asked if we do work to find missing persons, referring to Maeve. I said no, but I am rethinking it. The elements are completely in your wheelhouse.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Mike said, slapping the table. “I have been thinking the same thing. The police are on it, focused on the murder. But this is all of a piece. And ‘1740’ is the thread we need to follow.”
“Sam, can you tell us more?” Nola asked.
“Yes, start at the very beginning, even if you think we already know it,” Edward said.
“Sure,” Sam said. She watched Nola pull a notebook from a canvas bag.
As Sam began to talk, Nola began to write.
Sam kept her voice low, so people at nearby tables couldn’t listen.
That might not have been necessary. The older people leaned in close, to hear what Sam had to say, and she felt a wave of comfort wash over her—a feeling of hope.