Authors: Magda Alexander
CHAPTER 24
Trenton
After Madrigal gives me the grand tour of her grandfather’s mansion, I climb into my Jag and head back to an existence that feels emptier than usual. To keep from going stir-crazy, I call Charlie from my car to see if he’s made any progress in locating the detective in charge of her parents’ murder investigation.
“Glad you called, Steele. I was having no luck with the police departments, so on a hunch I tried searching detective license databases in every state. Hit pay dirt right off the bat. I located Detective Collins. In Arizona, of all places. He’s working out of Yuma as a private investigator.”
Thank fuck. Glad we finally got a lead on the bastard. “Did you call him?”
“Yep. Got the basics about the murders. Now don’t go and get excited. Nothing we didn’t know before. But he hinted he had quite a tale to tell. If you want more, it’s going to cost you.” His voice is filled with disgust.
“Whatever he wants, I’ll pay.”
“Chief, he wants $10,000.”
“He could be asking for a hundred thousand. Get me his banking information, and I’ll wire him the fucking money.”
“Okay. No need to tear off my head.
I’m
not the one cheating you out of your hard-earned cash.”
“It’s not cheating, damn it.”
“Yeah, it is. You’re so sweet on that girl, you’re not thinking. You haven’t thought straight since the day you met her. What is it about her?”
“None of your business, that’s what. Now go do your damn job. And stay out of my life.”
“Okay, Chief.” And he hangs up.
Damn, now I’m going to have to apologize to him. And after all he’s done too. But he’s right about Madrigal. And so is Mitch. I need to keep a professional distance between Madrigal and me, treat her like any other client. Problem is I can’t. I’m too far gone on her taste, the scent of her skin, the way I feel when I’m deep inside her to stay away.
By the time I make it home, Charlie has the private dick’s financial details. I call my bank and arrange the wire. Unfortunately, the money won’t go through right away. And something tells me the sooner I find out his tale, the better off we’ll be. After I ring back Charlie so that he can be in on the call, I telephone the PI with the transfer details.
“Detective Collins, Trenton Steele.”
“I’m just a private investigator now. You the lawyer wanting to know about the Berkeleys’ murders?”
“That’s right. Charlie White is an associate of mine.”
“Lost my job because of those damn murders.”
His words come through hard and bitter. I’m sure his love affair with the bottle had nothing to do with Arlington PD letting him go. Word has it he liked the hooch too much.
“I always knew somebody would come calling. Just didn’t think it would take ten years for anybody to wise up to the truth.”
“What truth?”
“That crime scene. Wasn’t right.” His slurred speech tells me he’s hit the bottle early. It can’t be more than three o’clock his time. But then it’s always five o’clock somewhere.
“What do you mean?”
“The bodies were staged to make it look like they’d both been murdered in their bedroom. He was, but she wasn’t. The woman’s body, Mrs. Berkeley. Blood wasn’t pooled beneath her. At all. Which means she was killed somewhere else. The husband died from a gunshot wound to the stomach. Whoever took that shot must have hated his guts. Took him hours to die.”
“Did you find out where she was killed?”
“No. And it wasn’t because we didn’t look. We did. Couldn’t find a thing in that big motherfucker of a house. We spent days investigating that case. And in the end we had nothing more than we had at the beginning. Two dead bodies.”
“You zeroed in on the handymen?”
“Yes.”
“How did that come about?”
“We looked at everyone that had anything to do with the house. Started with the family. The oldest daughter was away at a sleepover. The youngest was upstairs. She didn’t hear a damn thing. Thank God. Would have hated for someone that young to be traumatized by such a scene.”
“Did someone clue you in to the two handymen?”
“Yes. The damn cook. She heard them talking about breaking into the house to steal the TV. Well, as soon as I heard that, I got the details from their place of business and hunted them down. Found them in DC in this run-down house. One of them came after me. Shot him in the knee. The other one folded like an accordion. Said he hadn’t meant to do it. That the other one talked him into it.”
“What happened afterward?”
“What the fuck do you think? We arrested him and searched the house. Found all kinds of things from the Berkeleys’ home, including a picture frame with a photo of the Berkeleys. That lowdown thief told us he took it because they were such a pretty family. He wanted something to remember them by. Can you believe it?”
Yes, I can. They had made a beautiful family. Two dark-haired parents. One child the spitting image of her mother and the other a gold-haired tyke with brown eyes. Judging by the photo in Madrigal’s bedroom, Madison resembled Holden more than her parents.
“But then the case fell apart.”
“Yeah, that damn cook. Helga somebody. Wait a minute. Let me go through the file.”
My heart skips a beat. “You kept a file?”
“You bet I did. I kept separate files of all my cases. Just in the event things headed south.”
Hadn’t seemed to do him much good. But that file? It could be a gold mine. “I want a copy of it.”
“Sure you do, champ, but it’s going to cost you.”
Of course it will. “How much?”
“Another ten Gs.”
“I’ll send the additional money on Monday.” Can’t do it before then. The banks are closed on Sundays. And it’s too late now to start another wire transfer.
“As soon as I get it, I’ll overnight the file to you. Have to warn you, though. No photos. The damn police photographer wouldn’t share. Bastard.”
Doesn’t matter. We have the photos Madison took from the newspaper. Together with his file, we should be able to come up with a new theory of the crime.
“Here it is. My interview of the cook. She said she heard the skells talking about breaking into the house at night. But on the witness stand, she recanted her words. Said she never said such a thing. So it looked like I dreamed the whole thing up just so I could grab those sons of bitches.”
“And without that evidence?”
“We had no right to nab them or to search the house they were living in. Fruit of the poisonous tree or some legal mumbo jumbo. After the case was thrown out of court, I was put on administrative leave pending investigation. I knew what that meant. Saw the writing on the wall. Sure enough, it took them no time at all to let me go. And all because of that bitch.”
“What was her name?”
“Helga. Helga Carlsson.”
After he hangs up, I stay on the line with Charlie. “Do you think Collins is telling the truth?”
“Yeah, I do. He lost his job because of this case. He’s got nothing to gain by lying.”
Something about the case is terribly wrong. Nothing jibes with what Madrigal was told. Granted, I can ascribe Holden’s motive to trying to protect his granddaughter from the ugly facts of the murders. But my gut tells me it’s something much nastier.
“Charlie, do one more thing for me. After the Berkeleys’ murders, Madrigal was kept in a mental health facility for a year. She swears she shouldn’t have been kept there that long. Can you look into it and get back to me?”
“You suspect foul play?”
“I suspect something. Why would she be kept in a facility for a year when there was no need? And when it would be better for her to be with her family?” What remained of it, anyhow.
“Good questions.”
Yeah, with no answers. But I intend to find out.
CHAPTER 25
Madrigal
After escorting Trenton out the front door, I have no interest in returning to the picnic and Gramps’s guests. So I hole up in my room, dreaming about all the deliciously forbidden things he’d hinted at. I love the things he does to me.
Late in the afternoon, Madison knocks on my door. By now I’ve showered and put on fresh clothes, so there’s no evidence of Steele’s visit. At least not on me.
“How are you, squirt?”
“Wish you’d stopped calling me that. I’m not five anymore.”
“You’re right. You’re not.” I muss up her hair.
She steps away from me. “Stop. What’s got you in such a good mood?”
“Oh, work, life.”
With a heavy sigh and downturned lips, she drops on my bed. Something’s got her upset.
“Are you okay?”
She gives me a tight smile. “Peachy, thanks for asking.”
Sarcasm doesn’t suit her. “What’s wrong?”
“Gramps just read me the riot act. Over dinner. In front of all the servants. He said I should have been here today. That it’s time I handled my responsibilities as a member of this family.”
“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to attend the firm events. You know how important those are to him.”
“And be bored out of my mind?”
Joining her on the bed, I hug her to me. “Children attend the picnic. You could organize some of their activities. You’d enjoy doing that.”
She shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. But there’s nothing I can do at the annual holiday party except stand around and look pretty.”
“That one’s a bit tougher, I know, but soon you’ll be an adult. You’ll need to learn how to talk and mingle with them and conduct yourself in a social setting.”
“Who cares?”
“Madison, what has you so riled up? This can’t be just about Gramps.”
“Yes, it is. You don’t know what he’s like. He’s always yelling at me. Nothing I do is ever good enough for him. You’re lucky. You’ve been away from home for years at a time. And you only come home for Christmas and summers. I’ve been stuck here in this house. I don’t want to be here anymore. I want my own life. Away from here. Away from him.” And with that she flounces out of the room.
Whatever is going on between her and Gramps—is it any different than the way he treated me? Or is the difference the way she reacts to his demands? After he punished me for disobeying him, I toed the line because I didn’t want to face the repercussions of his anger. But I was thirteen when I came to live with him, so I only had to suffer through five years of his discipline before I went off to college. Madison, on the other hand, has had to endure it since she was four. So her built-up resentment is understandable. I’ll need to continue this conversation with her after she’s had a chance to calm down so that we can get to the truth of the matter.
Exhausted after what I’ve gone through today, I lie down for a quick nap. Hours later, I wake up. A glance at my bedside clock tells me it’s after ten. Good God, I’ve slept for over six hours. While I slept, Madison slipped a note under my door. “Sorry for all the drama.” She’d written it on her pad of kittens and butterflies, a stationery set I’d given her for her last birthday. She’d drawn a heart next to her name. In so many ways, she’s still a child.
But I’m not. I’m twenty-four, and it’s time I take control of my life. I don’t have to marry Brad—or Steele, for that matter. I will finish out the summer internship and start work at Arlington in the fall. And with the money in my trust, I will buy a place close to the Arlington courthouse. When Madison turns eighteen, I’ll ask her to come live with me. Olivia as well.
Having made that momentous decision, I check in on Madison. She’s fast asleep in her bed. Starving, I stroll down to the kitchen to get something to eat. Everyone’s gone to bed. After an eventful day, the house is quiet, and the servants have retired to their rooms. Except for Olivia, who follows me into the kitchen.
“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” Has she been watching my room? First she barged in on me when Steele was there. And now? Well, it can’t be a coincidence she’s here when I come down for a snack.
“No. I was awake, worried about you.”
She has been watching me. “Don’t be. Gramps didn’t see a thing.” I don’t have to spell it out. She knows I’m talking about Steele.
“That’s good. Are you still upset about what happened at the picnic?”
“How do you know?”
“It’s my job to watch over you and your sister.”
A shot of anger races through my body. “Olivia, I’m twenty-four. I don’t need you to watch over me.”
She scrunches her mouth. What I said doesn’t sit right with her. “I can’t help it, not after all these years.”
She’s coming from a good place, I know, but it’s time to cut the cord. “I appreciate what you did for me while I was in high school. God knows I’d probably not have survived without you. But I’m old enough now to make my own way.”
Sadness rolls over her face. “Very well, dear. I’ll try not to overstep my duties.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
She winces as if I’ve struck a blow. Darn it. I don’t want to hurt her. She just needs to respect my boundaries.
“Good night, then.” She turns to go.
I don’t want to leave things like this between us. It’ll just make us both uncomfortable. “Wait. I’m going to have something to eat. Care to join me?”
“Is that what you want?”
“Yes.” From underneath the kitchen counter, I pull out a stool and pat it. “Here, sit. Now what would you like?” I fling open the industrial-size refrigerator. Inside is a food raider’s delight.
“The ham was delicious, and Helga made a mean potato salad.”
“Ooh, I love her potato salad.” I load up two plates with the food and a couple of rolls for good measure and pour glasses of lemonade.
We spend the next hour talking about the picnic. Busy as I was, I missed quite a bit, including Dick Slayton’s drunken altercation with Steele.
“Mr. Slayton was not at his best.”
“Is he ever?”
She laughs. “Ended up pouring him into the Benz and had Hans drive him home.”
“Well, at least Hans didn’t have to drive that far.” Dick Slayton has a spread only a few miles from us. Full after the feast we shared, I’m more than ready for bed.
“Well, good night.” Don’t know if I’ll get much sleep worrying about how to deal with Brad’s proposal. I’d rather dream about Trenton and the delicious things he’d do to me.
Before I make my way out of the kitchen, Olivia pulls me to her. “Stop worrying about what happened today.” She always could see through me. “You’re strong. Much stronger than your mother.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
She’s worked for our family since Madison was a baby. She’d seen my parents’ marriage firsthand. She’d known my mother well. “I wish I knew more about my mother, about who she really was.” Parents tend to show their children only what they want them to see.
She squeezes my hand. “There are some things of hers in the attic. I think you’re strong enough now to go through them.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You couldn’t have handled it before. But now?” She tilts back her head and scrutinizes me. “I think you can, Madrigal.”
“Show me.”
The house is quiet as we maneuver our way up the stairs to the attic. Once we get there, she flips on the light switch and heads to a trunk in the corner. “Her evening gowns are in there. I held on to them, thinking you and Madison would like to see them.”
The luggage is one of those old-fashioned steamer trunks about three feet high and covered in black leather. Split in the middle, hinges have it closed up tight. After much struggling, we finally wrestle it open. Mama’s gowns hang on the left on wooden hangers and inside clothes bags. I pull one open to discover a red satin gown she’d once worn to a holiday party. She’d looked so beautiful as she glided down the stairs.
“I remember this. She wore it to some fancy party.”
“The Holiday Gala at the National Portrait Gallery.”
“That’s right. Dad’s lobbying firm held the event every year at that posh place.” The right side of the trunk contains drawers. I pull one out to find an assortment of books, including
Pride and Prejudice
and
The Bell Jar
. When I lift out the last one, it’s snagged by a strap fixed to the trunk’s base. A false bottom? I pull the strap and discover a treasure trove. “Journals. She kept journals. Did you know?”
Olivia’s face turns ashen; her shoulders tighten. “No. I didn’t know those were there.”
They’re dated, thank God. I flip through them to find the one closest to the day she died. Clutching it to my chest, I stand up. I’ll be reading it tonight.
Olivia grasps my shoulder, a worried look on her face. “Madrigal. Those were her most private thoughts. Maybe she wouldn’t want you to know what’s in that journal.”
“I have to know. The key to what happened to her, to why she was murdered may be in here.”
Her brows hunch. “What do you mean? She was murdered by the men who broke into the house.”
“No. She was not.”
“How do you know?”
I debate whether to reveal my investigation or keep her in the dark. If I tell her, she could spill the beans to my grandfather. On the other hand, she could become my ally and help me keep the secret from him. “Promise me you won’t tell Gramps.”
“Madrigal. What are you up to?”
“Promise me, and I’ll tell you.”
Her nostrils flare as she debates what to do. If she gives me her word, I can count on it. She’s never betrayed my trust.
“Very well. I promise.”
“I talked to one of them.”
Her breath cuts short. “When? How?”
“Last Saturday.”
“That’s where you were? Not out with your friend?”
“Yes. Steele’s been helping me. Well, him and a retired detective.”
“Who did you talk to?”
“Michael Haynes. He told me he didn’t do it. He didn’t kill them.”
Her eyes widen. “And you believed him? He’s a felon.”
“I’m sure he was telling the truth, which means we don’t know who killed them.” I tap the book. “But maybe there’s a clue in this journal somewhere.”
She tosses a nervous glance toward the attic door, like she expects someone to walk in on us. “Be careful, Madrigal. Your grandfather . . . if he finds out, I don’t know what he’d do. He’s come to terms with what happened. If you discover something . . . unpleasant, he might not be able to live with it.”
I lift my chin. “And I can’t live with the lies he wove around their murders.”
“Lies?”
“Yes, he lied about the facts of the case. But now? No one is stopping me from learning the truth.”
Leaving Olivia in the attic, I rush to my room, where I spend the next two hours reading my mother’s last journal, the one that covers the last four months of her life. The book contains nothing out of the ordinary until I reach the last two pages and discover that everything I believed about my parents’ marriage was nothing but lies:
January 8, 2002. As always, he dismissed the servants. Arranged for Madrigal and Madison to spend the night at my father’s so we can enjoy our private time. Our night in. Usually he’s satisfied with degrading me. But last night he devised something new. He tied me up and dragged me downstairs to a hidden room to which he has the only key. Inside were horrible things, unspeakable things. For the first time, he whipped me, beat me, all because I told him I was leaving him. The pain’s excruciating, but I don’t dare go to a doctor. If someone finds out, Tom will take my children from me.
February 12, 2002. Another session with that sadistic son of a bitch. This time he jammed something deep into me. I screamed that he was hurting me, but that didn’t stop him. This morning I can’t pee. He gave me the name of a doctor to call in case I had issues. I had no choice but to go. He promised not to say a word. Of course he won’t. He’s in on it.
March 12, 2002. I’m done. Next month, I’m leaving with the kids. I’ve made arrangements. And he can’t stop me. I paid one of the workers fixing the house to break into the room and set up a camera. I now have the proof I need to hold over his head. I can do it, as long as he doesn’t find out first.
My stomach cramps. My breath hitches as tears pour down my face. What I found changes everything I believed was true in my life. Bawling quietly, I curl into a ball. I don’t want anyone to hear me. I don’t want anyone to know. But I can’t bear this alone. And there’s only one person who can help me with the pain.