The Price of Justice (22 page)

C
HAPTER

39

T
ommy figured it was time to visit Mr. and Mrs. Sobol. He thought it was a long shot that they’d have anything useful for him, but he had to give it a try. The next morning, he drove to their home. He rang the bell, and a trim, middle-aged woman, with her shoulder-length blonde hair, bleached either by the sun or by her hairdresser, pulled back in a ponytail, opened the door.

“Mrs. Sobol?”

“Yes.”

Tommy handed her his card, and as HIPP’s name registered with her, he saw a sharp intake of breath.

“You helped Win go free.”

Tommy nodded.

“Please, come in.”

Tommy stepped into the large foyer and followed her to the living room. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Juice?”

“Thanks, no. I hope I’m not bothering you, but I’d like to talk about Carly.”

“Just a minute.” She walked out of the room, and a minute later returned with her husband. “This is Chip, Carly’s father. And please, call me Jessica.” Both of the Sobols sat, and Jessica motioned for Tommy to do the same.

Before Tommy had a chance to speak, Jessica said, “I want you to know that we’re grateful that your group helped the truth come out about Carly’s death. We’d spent a fair amount of time with Win when he dated Carly, and we’d never understood how he could have killed our darling daughter. Now, finally, it makes sense to us.”

Tommy knew he couldn’t reveal the truth to the Sobols. Not until he tracked down the real killer. Instead, he’d come up with a plan, already approved by Win, that would explain his visit. “Win was very fond of your daughter, even after they’d broken up. With your permission, he’d like to set up a scholarship for graduating seniors at Palm Beach High School, in Carly’s name.”

Jessica’s hand flew to her mouth, and tears welled up in her eyes. Chip put his arm around her shoulder and drew her close to him. He looked toward Tommy. “We’ve wanted to reach out to Winston, tell him how sorry we are for what he endured. But we didn’t know how he’d feel about us. Now, he wants to do this generous act. I—” He shook his head, unable to speak anymore.

Tommy knew that his next statement would shake them up even further. He thought hard about whether it was right for him to disturb this couple who’d suffered the worst tragedy—losing a child. But if they had any information that could lead him to the real killer, he needed to learn it. “It’s possible that Sanders had an accomplice,” he said, then sat back and watched the color drain from their faces. “If that’s true, I’m determined to find him.”

The silence in the room was palpable. Finally, Chip cleared his throat. “Why do you think that?”

“From things Sanders said. He wasn’t explicit. Just hinted at it.”

“Have you told the police this?”

Tommy shook his head. “I don’t have enough to go on yet. When I do, I’ll turn it over to them.”

Jessica turned toward her husband and, her voice barely above a whisper, said, “I thought it was finally over. How can we prolong this pain?”

“We have to, sweetheart. Anyone who had a hand in Carly’s death has to be punished. You know that.” Chip looked at Tommy. “What can we do?”

“What do you know about Greg Kincaid?”

A low moan came from Jessica, and she slumped in her seat. Chip held her even tighter. “Do you think he was involved?”

“I’m just covering all bases. He was seen leaving the gym that night, after Carly went off with Win.”

“No, no, no, it can’t be!” Jessica cried.

“Honey, he’s just asking questions. It doesn’t mean Greg was involved.”

Jessica stood up. “I can’t stay here.” She squeezed her husband’s hand, then left the room.

Chip’s hands were folded on his lap. He stared at them, his head down. Tommy waited for him to speak.

“You know, we have two other children. Two boys, younger than Carly. I think if it weren’t for them, the strain on our marriage would have been too great. We worked through it because of the boys. We had to. But Carly—” He stopped and sighed deeply. “She was my princess, a real daddy’s girl. She loved her mother, of course, but it was different with me. In her eyes, I could do no wrong. And to me, she was the perfect child. I thought it would be hard for me to adjust to her leaving for college, to her getting married, having her own life. Those are the struggles I expected. Not to lose her completely. It felt then, and it still feels now, like part of me was amputated.”

He stood up and walked over to the grand piano, then picked up one of the framed photos sitting on its top. He handed it to Tommy. “This is the last picture I have of her. I took it the night of the dance. Isn’t she beautiful?”

In the photo, Greg Kincaid, dressed in a dark suit and purple tie, had his arm around Carly. She wore a purple cocktail dress with a teardrop necklace, and earrings dangled from her lobes. On one wrist was a silver watch, on the other a corsage. Pink and purple carnations. Tommy stared at the picture. Something wasn’t right. He searched his memory, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He knew, though, that this picture was important, and he would damn sure figure out why.

C
HAPTER

40

I
t was the first rainy day since Tommy had flown down to Palm Beach six days earlier. It was the first rainy day in all of the trips he’d made to Florida over the past few months. He’d started to think maybe there was a law that prohibited rain in Palm Beach during the winter months.

He’d been parked down the block from Greg Kincaid’s house each of the past five days, watching as he left for work at eight thirty every morning and returned at six thirty every evening. Each day was the same as the next. But it wasn’t Greg’s schedule he’d been monitoring. It was his mother’s. He needed to find a pattern for when she left the house. When it was safe to break in.

After Tommy left the Sobols’ home, he’d returned to Win’s house and immediately retreated to his guest suite. Once settled, he’d retrieved the police files from his briefcase and spread the pictures and reports out on the king-size bed. First, he’d scrutinized the pictures of the body, sprawled on the ground, her dress up above her waist. When he was done, he’d picked up the schedule of items found at the scene. Missing from both was the corsage of carnations. It wasn’t on Carly’s wrist and wasn’t found on the nearby ground.

Son of a bitch. The sick bastard took it back with him as a souvenir.

He needed to get inside Greg’s house. He needed to see if it was still in his room, pressed between some pages like a lovesick teenager would do. It would prove that Greg, the jilted boyfriend, had murdered the girl who’d betrayed him.

Each morning at ten forty-five, Mrs. Kincaid walked out her front door, got in her Hyundai Accent, and drove to a local senior center. Each day Tommy followed her and watched as she went inside. On the first day, he waited outside ten minutes, then entered the building. A sign in the foyer listed the day’s activities and the rooms in which they were held. Bingo was on the schedule every day, eleven a.m. to twelve thirty p.m. Carefully, he passed by the bingo room and spotted Mrs. Kincaid inside, her body hunched over two bingo cards. Each day she left the building at twelve thirty, stopped to pick up a sandwich at a local shop, then headed back home.

Today was Friday. He had to return to New York the next day. At exactly ten forty-five, the front door of the Kincaid home opened, and Mrs. Kincaid waddled out, an umbrella in one hand and her purse in the other. She walked down the front steps to the driveway, got in her car, and drove away. Tommy waited ten minutes, just in case she’d forgotten something. Then, leaving his car where it was, he walked up to Greg’s house. He slipped around to the backyard, thankfully landscaped with large shrubs and trees that blocked its view from the neighboring homes. A flagstone patio, with a few odd outdoor chairs, surrounded the back door. Tommy walked up to it, pulled a pick from his pocket, and two minutes later was inside the house.

He took a moment to get his bearings. It was one story, with the kitchen in the back, the living room to the right, and a hallway leading to more rooms on the left. He walked down the hallway, careful to keep the lights turned off despite the dark from the dreary rain outside. The first door he opened was the bathroom. Opposite that was a room with a couch, desk, computer, and television. Past that, on the same side, was the master bedroom, facing the front yard. And across the hall was the last room. Tommy opened the door and stepped inside. A twin bed, an end table, a double dresser with a small TV sitting on top, a small bookcase, and in the corner, a large stuffed giraffe. Beige wall-to-wall carpeting on the floor and beige-and-navy-striped cotton curtains on the two windows looking out into the backyard. A small closet filled with men’s clothes. The walls were white and devoid of any decoration. It had to be Greg’s room.

Although the room faced the rear, Tommy was still reluctant to turn on the overhead light. Instead, he took out his cell phone, scrolled through the apps to a flashlight, and turned it on. Between the flashlight and the gray light streaming through the curtains, he could see well enough. He approached the job methodically. First, under the mattress, the most secure place to hide something. Careful to not disrupt the bedding, Tommy lifted the mattress, then ran his hand underneath it. Nothing. He placed it down carefully, then moved over to the bookcase. One by one, he opened each book and slowly flipped through the pages. Still nothing. He started to get agitated. He knew it had to be in this room. There wasn’t any other explanation for the corsage to be missing from the murder site.

He turned to the closet. Neatly hung rows of pants, shirts, and jackets hung from the rod. Pairs of shoes lined up on the floor. He looked up at the shelf over the rod and saw four boxes. He took each of them down and placed them on the bed. One by one, he went through them, finding an assortment of miscellaneous items, papers, pictures, and knickknacks, but no pressed corsage. Next, he turned to the dresser, opening each drawer and carefully searching for something hidden between the underwear and socks, shirts, and shorts. Again, he came away empty.

Most Florida homes didn’t have basements, and this one was no exception. He left Greg’s room and entered his mother’s bedroom. He thought it unlikely Greg would have hidden it there, but nevertheless, he went through it with the same precision. Her room was clean. He glanced at his watch. It was eleven forty-five. He didn’t have a lot of time left. He tried the front hall closet next. That, too, had boxes on the top shelf, and he went through each one, coming up empty. Finally, he turned to the kitchen. Fortunately, it was a fairly compact room. One wall of cabinets, a counter underneath, four drawers below the counter, and more cabinets below the drawers. He quickly opened the top cabinets and saw that each contained only plates of varying sizes, glasses, and coffee cups. Next, the drawers. Two had silverware, one had serving pieces, and the last seemed a hodgepodge of loose papers. He rifled through them but found nothing.

Finally, he opened the bottom cabinets. They were stuffed with pots and pans and plastic containers. Just as he stood up, he heard the distinct sound of a key sliding into the front door, and then the door opening. He picked up his head and listened. It was a pair of heels. The mother, not the son, back early. Quietly, he closed the cabinet, crawled over to the back door, and slipped outside, closing the door behind him just as he heard the footsteps entering the kitchen. Still staying low, he crept around to the front, then stood up and casually walked to his car.

As soon as Tommy returned to the Melton home, Win greeted him. “Any luck today?” he asked.

Tommy had told no one of his plan to break and enter the Kincaid house. If something had gone wrong and he were apprehended, that person could have been considered an accessory. So, each morning, he left the house saying only that he was pursuing leads. Each afternoon, he’d come home and shake his head when Win asked if he’d found anything. And now, the sad truth was that he had nothing. He’d been so sure he’d find the carnation tucked away in some hiding place. Of course, it didn’t mean Kincaid wasn’t the murderer. Perhaps he’d removed the corsage impulsively, then thrown it away when he realized it would tie him to the crime.

There was nothing more Tommy could do in Palm Beach. He’d taken his shot and missed. Tomorrow morning, he’d board the Melton family jet and be whisked back to New York, back to his wife and family, back to HIPP. And he knew he’d feel a knot every time he thought about Palm Beach, because he’d made a promise to Bruce and to Win, and he’d failed to deliver.

Amelia Melton wasn’t certain how she felt about Tommy’s departure. Relief? Yes, she had to admit, a bit of that. Winston’s name had been cleared and her involvement in that kept quiet. And so, part of her wished that it would remain that way. Yet, she had to admit to a twinge of disappointment as well. Although Winston seemed perkier during Tommy’s visit, he remained a shell of the boy he’d been before his incarceration. She loathed the man responsible; she wanted him to suffer as well. So, if Tommy had uncovered proof of his crime, even if it meant her own misdeed was revealed, she’d rejoice.