Bloodlines (16 page)

He grinned. “Oh, trust me…you're very welcome.”

“Where's Grampy going to stay?” she asked.

“The Mansion on Turtle Creek, as will your uncle Terrence and aunt Carolyn. As for the rest of it, he said for you not to worry, just get better. He'll stay in touch.”

She sighed. “This has certainly become something of a mess, hasn't it?”

Before he could answer, his pager went off. He glanced down at it, then straightened.

“Honey, I'm sorry, but I've got to go down to the E.R. and interview a man. I won't be long, okay?”

She waved him away.

“Of course. Go do what it is you detectives do. I've got a dream to get back to.”

Trey grinned.

“Save a place for me in that dream.”

“I don't have to,” she said softly. “You
are
the dream.”

 

Trey was still thinking of Livvie as he got off the elevator, but his thoughts shifted quickly when he saw the man he'd come to talk to hurrying out the exit.

“Hey!” he yelled, and started toward him at a lope.

Foster turned. It was the cop who'd followed the ambulance to the hospital. He'd heard him talking to the nurses. The guy wanted to talk to him about the fire. With his luck, they would accuse him of starting it. He glanced out the door. Freedom was only a few feet away. But the cop was almost here.

Foster took a couple of steps toward the door, then froze as a police car pulled up to the entrance. His shoulders slumped; then he turned around.

It was over.

“Hey, man…where were you going?” Trey asked.

Foster shrugged. “Out. Don't like hospitals much.”

Trey smiled, then clapped him on the back.

“Don't much blame you, but I need your help. My name's Detective Bonney.”

When the man didn't answer, Trey let it slide for the time being.

“Are you feeling all right? That was quite a rescue you pulled off.”

Foster saw the determination on the detective's face. Even if he ran now, even if he got away, it would only be a matter of time before they tracked him down. Truth was, he was tired of running. Tired of hiding. He'd fucked himself once by getting mixed up in something bad. He wasn't going to do it again.

“Yeah, I'm all right,” Foster said, then held up his hands. “Just a few rope burns—and I need a new pair of shoes.”

Trey looked down. The soles of the man's shoes were almost gone—melted by the heat of the roof on which he'd been standing.

“Let's find a place to talk,” Trey said. “I want to get your take on the fire.”

Foster lifted his chin. It was time for the unveiling.

“Let's just skip all the bullshit and get down to the truth. What you really want to know is, did I have anything to do with setting it.”

Trey's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

“Well…did you?” Trey asked.

Foster shook his head. “No, sir, I did not. If I had, I can guarantee I wouldn't have been so damn stupid as to get myself caught in the blaze.”

Trey stared at him a moment; then he nodded in agreement. “Makes sense to me,” he said. “So…now can we talk?”

“Yeah, why the hell not,” Foster muttered. “I got plenty to say about a whole lot of things.”

“Do we need to go down to headquarters?”

Foster shrugged. “I was leaning more toward Florida, but right now, I don't have anyplace else to go.”

“My car is just outside,” Trey said.

Foster fell into step beside Trey. Trey eyed the man cautiously, sensing he had yet to hear the whole story.

When they got to the car, Foster pointed to the back seat. “I reckon you'll be wanting me to sit back there,” he said.

“Why's that?” Trey asked.

“Well, I understand the Dallas Police Department has been wanting to talk to me for some time now.”

Trey resisted the urge to feel for his gun and took comfort from the weight of it in the shoulder holster under his jacket.

“Why's that?” Trey asked.

Foster shrugged. “Beats me. I was sitting in my hotel room, minding my own business, when I heard my name on TV.”

Suddenly Trey knew—even before the man made the admission—but he still had to ask.

“And what name would that be?” Trey asked.

“Foster Lawrence, late of Lompoc Federal Prison and most recently the Henry-Dean Hotel.”

“Son of a bitch,” Trey muttered.

Foster grinned. “Yeah, I heard that name a few times before, too.” Then he held out his wrists.

Trey handcuffed him, then opened the back door.

“This is just a precaution,” he said. “I'll take them off as soon as we get to the precinct.”

The smile slid off Foster's face. “I heard that before, too,” he said. “And just for the record, I don't know a damn thing about any dead babies, just like I didn't know a damn thing about those murders twenty-five years ago. But seein' as how nobody believed me back then, you can understand my reluctance to go through this shit again.”

Without a cage between him and the back seat, and driving alone, Trey was reluctant to transport Lawrence. He took him by the elbow and escorted him to a police car parked nearby. One of the cops was standing by the unit, while the other was talking to an EMT driver.

When the uniformed officer saw the handcuffs, he began to pay attention.

“This is Foster Lawrence,” Trey said. “He's just offered to come to headquarters and answer some questions. I wonder if you'd do me a favor and drive him for me. I'll pick him up down in booking.”

Foster's heart dropped.

“Am I being arrested?” he asked.

“No,” Trey said, then added, “Not unless you need to be.”

“I need a lot of things, but that ain't one of 'em,” Foster said, and scooted into the back seat of the police cruiser when Trey opened the door. “See you there,” he told Trey, then leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes.

Trey eyed the melted shoes, the bandages on the man's hands, and the red, angry flush on his heat-scorched cheeks. It was ironic that this man had gone from hero to suspect within the space of five minutes. It was all about luck, and Lawrence's seemed to have run out.

T
rey called Olivia from the car on his way back to headquarters. She answered on the second ring.

“Olivia, honey…it's me.”

Olivia smiled to herself. “Hi, me.”

Trey grinned. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this good about life.

“Just wanted you to know that something's come up. I'm on my way back to the precinct. I guess this was a night for fires. There was a bad one downtown at an old hotel, and I've got to talk to some of the survivors.”

“Oh no. How awful.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I won't be back tonight. Get a good night's sleep, and I'll see you in the morning, okay?”

“Okay. Be careful,” Olivia said.

Trey chuckled. “Always, honey. Just think of it like this. I'm only going to the office. Sleep tight and dream some more good dreams of me. I'll pick you up in the morning.”

Olivia smiled as she hung up the phone, then turned over and closed her eyes. The sooner morning came,
the sooner she would be out of this place, but her phone rang again before she'd fallen asleep.

“Hello,” Olivia said.

“Darling, it's me,” Marcus said.

“Grampy! I'm so glad to hear your voice. Trey told me what happened. Are Rose and Anna all right?”

“They're fine, just a bit rattled. I've got Anna in an assisted-living home for the time being, although she argued all the way there, and Rose went to stay with her sister. Carpenters will be at the house in a few days. It's the best I could do.”

“Oh, Grampy, I'm so sorry this is happening and I'm not there to help.”

“You're right where you need to be, and besides, there's absolutely nothing you could do. Have you talked to Trey?”

“Yes. He's going to pick me up in the morning. Said he has a neighbor who can stay with me during the day when he's at work, although I don't need a baby-sitter.”

“Let him take care of you, darling. I don't want to bring you home from the hospital to a hotel room, or I'd be the one coming for you.”

“I know,” Olivia said. “I'm not feeling abandoned. In fact, I'm feeling guilty.”

“Whatever for?” Marcus said.

“For Anna.”

“That's absurd. She needs help. We're all she has. Family doesn't abandon family, no matter what the price,” Marcus said.

“Speaking of family…have Uncle Terrence and Aunt Carolyn arrived yet?”

“Yes. I'm meeting them at the hotel restaurant in an hour.”

“Give them my love,” Olivia said.

“I will,” Marcus said. “Rest well, darling. I'll be in touch.”

“Grampy.”

“Yes?”

“Do you think it's true…about Daddy, I mean?”

Marcus slumped where he sat.

“I don't want to, but honestly, I don't see any other explanation.”

“I'm sorry,” Olivia said.

Marcus frowned. “Why? God knows none of this is your fault.”

“I'm just sorry that this is happening. I don't have any memories of my parents, but you do. I know you're sad. I know you have to be hurting. I'm sorry that you have to go through this, that's all.”

Marcus blinked away tears. “Thank you, darling. I don't know what I'd do without you.” Then he thought of how possessive that sounded and quickly added, “Although, you know…I may have been shortchanging myself all these years by being so selfish with you and your time. If I hadn't been so shortsighted, I might have had some great-grandchildren to spoil, too.”

Olivia knew he was trying, in the only way he knew how, to apologize for pressuring her to stay with him all these years. Looking back, she had to admit that it was just as much her fault as his. She'd let him direct her life because it had been easier to give in than to fight. It was a shame that she'd had to come close to
dying before she developed the gumption to go for what she wanted. She thought of Trey, picturing his face and the love in his eyes, and shivered.

“Oh, Grampy…where there's love, it's never too late.”

Marcus thought of how many years he'd been without Amelia and suddenly felt old.

“You know something, darling? You're right. Sleep well. I'll be in touch.”

“You, too, Grampy,” Olivia said. She waited until she heard the click of Marcus's disconnect, then hung up the phone.

She lay there a moment, thinking of all the possibilities the future held, then went to sleep, dreaming of Trey and babies with dark brown eyes and sweet smiles.

 

Foster was sitting in a chair beside Trey's desk, still handcuffed, when Trey got there. Chia Rodriguez was staring at him, trying to picture him stuffing a dead baby in a suitcase, while her partner, David Sheets, was leaning against a nearby desk with his arms crossed against his chest. They both looked up when Trey walked into the room.

“How do you do it?” Sheets asked as Trey walked past him and unlocked the handcuffs from Lawrence's wrists.

“Do what?” Trey asked, dropping the handcuffs into a drawer.

“Come out smellin' like a rose? Me and Chia Pet here bust our rumps, while you just dally here and
there, catching bad guys between coffee breaks and making us look like slackers.”

Chia frowned at her partner.

“Oh, shut up, Sheets. You cry like a girl.” Then she snorted beneath her breath. “I just insulted my own gender.”

“Thanks for keeping an eye on him,” Trey said.

“No sweat,” Chia said. “You want some company?”

“Stick around,” Trey said. “He might have some information for you about the fire.”

Foster glanced at the female cop.

“The fire? At the hotel? Why didn't you say something sooner? Hell, lady, I thought you were just admiring the shine on my head.”

Chia ignored his sarcasm.

“Tell me what you saw,” she asked.

“I was leaving Dallas for good,” Foster said. “If I'd left fifteen, maybe thirty, minutes earlier, I would have been long gone before all that happened.”

“Did you see anything? Anyone suspicious?” Chia said.

“No. I was going down the stairs and ran into smoke between the third and second floors. It was knee high and climbing, so I backtracked. It wasn't long before I could feel the heat, too. I started yelling ‘fire' and kept running up. About the fourth floor, I heard other people coming up behind me. We got to the roof. You know the rest.”

“While you were on the roof, did you hear anyone mention anything?”

“Lady, there was just a lot of screaming and crying.”

“Yeah, all right,” Chia said. “But, if you think of anything—”

“I'll be sure and give you a call,” Foster said, and then glanced at Trey. “Depending on how many calls I'm going to be allowed, of course.”

“I keep telling you that you're not under arrest,” Trey said.

“So talk to me,” Foster said. “They said I'm wanted for questioning. Question me. I have a life I'd like to get on with.”

Trey sat down on the edge of his desk, then propped one shoe on the side of his chair as he stared down at the man.

“When you got out of Lompoc, why did you come back to Dallas?”

“To get the ransom I'd stashed,” Foster said.

It was the last thing Trey had expected him to say.

“So did you get it?”

“Yeah, sure, and I was living the high life in the Henry-Dean Hotel when it caught fire.” Then he laughed. “Actually, I think I'm jinxed by fire.”

“What do you mean?”

“The ransom…I hid it in the basement of a restaurant called Lazy Days. So I come back to Dallas to retrieve it and find out that the damn place burned down years ago.” Foster laughed and slapped his hand on his knee. “Isn't that a hoot? It's gone. What's worse, they went and built a federal savings and loan on the spot. Got guards out the wazoo, and I'm in no frame of mind to go back to lockup. I get myself a room to figure out what to do next and the hotel catches on fire.
So I'm saying to myself that it's time to get out of Dallas. Then you came along, and, well, here I am.”

The whole scenario was so outrageous that Trey had to believe it, but there were far bigger problems to consider than a pile of burnt-up money.

“Since you know you were wanted for questioning, then I'm guessing you also know why,” Trey said.

Foster's expression closed. “Somebody found a dead baby.”

“Yes, somebody did find a dead baby, or what's left of her.”

“I didn't have a damn thing to do with killing. I don't hold with it.”

“But you stole a child from her parents and demanded money before you'd give her back.”

Foster thought about what he knew and figured the more he told, the deeper the shit in which he'd be standing.

“I said it then, and they still put me in prison, so telling it all over again doesn't seem wise. However, I didn't have a damn thing to do with murder or kidnapping. I just walked in after the fact and did something stupid. I saw a way to make a bunch of fast money. And if it hadn't been for me, that kid would never have been returned.”

Trey stood abruptly and circled his desk. He pulled out a file, shuffled through some pages, then tossed the file back on his desk before turning to Foster.

“You never said that before,” Trey said.

Foster looked nervous.

“Said what?”

“That if it hadn't been for you, Olivia Sealy would never have been returned to her family.”

“Yes, I did. I took her back to the mall, remember?”

“But you never said that it was against someone else's wishes,” Trey said.

Foster shifted nervously in his seat, then looked down at the floor.

“Who was it?” Trey asked. “Who was the other person involved in the kidnapping?”

“I've done served my time,” Foster muttered. “You can't put me back in jail for this, so why don't you leave me the hell alone?”

“I'm not trying to pin the kidnapping on you,” Trey said. “I'm talking murder. Somebody killed a baby, stuck it in a suitcase and hid it behind a wall.”

“It wasn't me,” Foster said.

“You had your hands on one of them. Why should I believe you didn't kill the other one?”

Foster frowned. “I'm not getting this. What does one have to do with the other?”

“Both babies were the same age. Both babies were born with two left thumbs, an anomaly that runs in the Sealy family, and both babies had the same father.”

Foster's eyes widened, and his mouth went slack. He shook his head. “I only saw one kid…the one I took to the mall. I don't know anything about a second one.” Sweat beads formed across his bald forehead and his upper lip. “You have to believe me. I didn't know.”

Trey glanced up at Chia and Sheets, who seemed as riveted by the new revelations as Foster Lawrence.
Trey didn't know whether to believe him or not, and from the look on Chia's face, she didn't, either. Trey looked back at Lawrence, then started in on him again.

“So talk to me, Lawrence. Exactly how
did
you get mixed up in the kidnapping?”

Foster thought about it long and hard. He'd served twenty-five years with his mouth shut, and all it had done was get him in trouble all over again. He wouldn't go back to prison.

“I want a lawyer,” Foster said. “I don't trust any of you, so if you want any more information from me, I want it in writing that whatever I tell you, it will be my ‘get out of jail free' card.”

Trey stifled a curse. He'd been so close to finding out what he needed to know, and now Lawrence was going to lawyer up.

“You want a lawyer, you'll wait for him in jail,” Trey said, and put the handcuffs back on Foster's wrists.

Foster's face paled, but he wouldn't budge.

“Damn you,” he muttered as Trey led him away.

“No, damn you,” Trey countered. “Somebody killed a baby and stuffed it in a suitcase, and I think you know who did it. You're protecting a baby killer, which means you could haul the entire first string of the Dallas Cowboys off a burning building and it still wouldn't make you a hero to me.”

“I didn't set out to be no hero,” Foster muttered. “I was just trying to save my own hide.”

“Figures,” Trey said, and kept moving.

Trey got down to booking and dealt with the paper
work, ignoring the constant muttering coming from Lawrence, then handed him over. Foster was still talking about his rights and demanding a lawyer when Trey left.

 

Marcus had taken some painkillers for a headache, then showered and shaved without particular care for how he looked. He just wanted the night to be over. Sitting across a dinner table from Terrence was going to be nothing short of misery, having to keep up a civil conversation was almost impossible. If not for Carolyn, he wouldn't bother.

He'd made a reservation at the hotel restaurant and was in the lobby, waiting for them, when they arrived.

Carolyn saw Marcus first, threw up her hands in a gesture of delight and came toward him. She gave him a big hug, then kissed him on both cheeks before turning to her husband.

“Terrence! Would you look at Marcus? I swear he hasn't aged a day since we left.”

Terrence Sealy nodded and smiled, but, like Marcus, obviously felt uncomfortable.

“I'm afraid I can't say the same,” Terrence said, and patted his thinning hair and thickening waist. “Too much good pasta and wine.”

Carolyn smiled adoringly. “Oh, Terry, you always look wonderful to me.”

Terrence's smile shifted, as did the tone of his voice.

“And don't think I don't appreciate it,” he said softly.

“Our table is ready,” Marcus said abruptly, which put a quick end to their billing and cooing.

They sat, ordered appetizers and wine, then, as they waited, addressed the subject of why they'd come.