Closer Than You Think (43 page)

Faith stroked the girl’s forehead. ‘Nobody’s mad at you, Arianna. You did the right thing. You got away. Now we know to look for Corinne and Roza.’

‘Find her. Please. Corinne needs her medicine.’

‘We’re looking as hard as we can,’ Bishop assured her. ‘But we need to ask you something else. Before the night you were . . . taken, did you notice if anyone was following you or Corinne? Were you afraid of anyone?’

‘No. He came out of nowhere. He grabbed Corinne and put a cloth on her face. I tried to stop him, but he shot me.’

‘What was he wearing?’ Deacon asked.

‘Coat. Sneakers. Mask. Halloween mask.’

Deacon bit back a curse.
Goddamn Halloween.
‘Did you see anyone else around the path that night? Maybe someone saw you get taken or heard you yell?’

‘Nobody was there. Everyone was at the party. I’m sorry. I tried to fight him.’

‘Sshh.’ Faith stroked her hair. ‘You are so brave. You have nothing to be sorry for, honey. Tell me, how did you know about the man from Earl? Did he come in the house?’

‘No. Roza saw him on the laptop.’

Laptop? Deacon shared a glance with Bishop, saw that she was thinking the same thing.

‘Cameras?’ Bishop mouthed.

Deacon shook his head. They’d found nothing like that last night. They’d need to look harder. If the cameras had captured the power tech, they might have captured his killer, too.

The nurse pushed her way in. ‘Time’s up. Everyone out. It’s time for her evening medication. It will help her sleep, which is what she needs right now.’

‘Wait.’ Arianna clutched Faith’s arm when she started to stand. ‘Come back.’

‘We will,’ Bishop said. ‘Don’t worry.’

‘No. Faith. Come back.’

‘I will. I promise. But I have to go now.’ Faith carefully pulled Arianna’s hand from her sleeve. ‘Sleep, baby. It’s time to sleep.’

The four of them left the room, silent until they reached the empty waiting room.

‘I promised Arianna I’d come back,’ Faith said. ‘I’d like to stay.’

Deacon shook his head. ‘I need to know you’re in the safe house.’

Dr Fallon’s brows lifted. ‘I’ll stay,’ she told Faith. ‘I’ll call you when she wakes up.’

‘Really?’ Faith asked. ‘I was under the impression that you weren’t too sure about me.’

‘I wasn’t,’ Dr Fallon admitted. ‘I still may not be. I Googled you and read all the articles about your former clientele. I don’t believe sex offenders can be rehabilitated.’

‘Neither do I,’ Faith said quietly.

Dr Fallon regarded her steadily. ‘Then one day perhaps you’ll tell me why you treated them for so many years. For now, my job is to judge whether you should be allowed to see Arianna. Today, she seemed calmed by your presence. If she asks for you again, I’ll call you.’

‘Fair enough,’ Faith said. ‘Give me your card. When I get a new cell phone, I’ll text you the number. Until then, you can reach me through Agent Novak or Detective Bishop.’ She turned to Deacon when Dr Fallon had returned to Arianna’s room. ‘I have to warn you, I’ve given a few other people your number to reach me – my boss, Lily and my dad, and Detective Vega, of course.’

Deacon checked his phone messages. ‘None of them have called for you. But your uncle Jordan did. He’s in Isenberg’s office, demanding to see you so he can know you’re all right. I was going to take you back to the safe house, but I’d like you to talk to your uncle first.’

‘Did Jordan bring his friend with him?’ Bishop asked, humor glinting in her dark eyes.

‘I don’t think so,’ Deacon said dryly.

‘What?’ Faith asked. ‘What did I miss?’

Deacon took her elbow, lightly steering her toward the elevator. ‘I’ll tell you in the car.’

Cincinnati, Ohio, Tuesday 4 November, 6.05
P.M.

Jordan O’Bannion was taller and leaner standing up than he’d appeared while curled up in a drunken fetal ball. His short hair was as red as Faith’s, with just a hint of gray. His tired eyes and the lines around his mouth were the only indications that he’d been passed out drunk hours before. That, and the tremor in his hands as he paced the inside perimeter of Interview Room 1, having been moved there by Isenberg, who needed the privacy of her office.

He stopped pacing when Deacon and Bishop entered. ‘Agent Novak?’

Deacon nodded. ‘And my partner, Detective Bishop. Would you like to sit down?’

‘No,’ the man snapped, but he sat anyway. ‘I called you before noon, and here it is, six hours later, and you’re just now talking to me? I’ve been worried sick about my niece. I heard she was shot at last night. Was she hit? Is she all right? Where is she?’

O’Bannion directed his questions to Bishop, meeting her eyes but avoiding Deacon’s. Deacon suspected that he knew exactly what Alda Lane had shared regarding his condition that morning.
If I knew someone had seen me passed out drunk, I’d be ashamed too
.

‘We’re sorry we made you wait,’ Deacon said, taking the chair to O’Bannion’s right. ‘We’ve had a busy day. Faith is fine. The bullet never touched her. She sustained only minor injuries while being pushed out of the way.’

‘Thank God,’ O’Bannion breathed. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve just been beside myself. I’ve called her cell phone, but she never answered.
Why
was she shot at? By
whom
? What is she even doing here in Cincinnati? Why didn’t she tell me she was in town? When did she get here?’

Bishop sat across from Deacon so that O’Bannion was forced to face both of them. ‘You should probably ask her those last three questions yourself,’ she said. ‘As for the
who
and
why
she was shot? We don’t know yet, but the FBI and CPD are working together to find out. In the meantime, I’m afraid we have a situation at your family home, Mr O’Bannion.’

O’Bannion frowned. ‘I saw it on the news when I woke up. I couldn’t believe it. They said an abducted girl had been held in the house. That’s . . . well, upsetting, of course. I called the police information number, but was told the matter was still classified. Playing phone tag with you, Agent Novak, made it even worse. And then I saw news coverage of police removing items of furniture. I want to know what’s happening. Those are antiques. Heirlooms.’

Tanaka had hoped that draping sheets over the Plexiglas coffins as they were moved to the morgue would make viewers believe it was furniture, buying the department time to make a proper statement.

‘How long has it been since you were at the family house, Mr O’Bannion?’ Deacon asked.

‘At it? Last month, when I buried my mother. In it? More than twenty years. The house was my mother’s, but Faith has inherited it.’

Bishop had briefed Deacon on her visit to Maguire and Sons. Henson’s grandson’s behavior was highly suspicious. That the elder Henson had vouched for him put everything the old man said under doubt. Deacon and Bishop wanted Jordan’s point of view.

‘Who’s been caring for the house all this time?’ Deacon asked.

‘Our attorney hired a service,’ Jordan said, still directing his answers to Bishop. ‘They do inspections on the roof, check for termites, rodent infestations and things like that. Any of the big things that might cause irreparable harm to the structure. I’m sure our attorney can give you the name. Someone from his firm took the contractors into the house periodically and stayed during the inspection to make sure they were doing the work. Henson paid them and sent my mother the receipts. Neither Mother nor I ever dealt with them personally.’

‘Dr Corcoran tells us you were your mother’s caretaker,’ Deacon said.

O’Bannion’s brows crunched together. ‘Dr Corcoran? Who is that?’

‘Dr Corcoran is Faith,’ Bishop said, her brows lifted. ‘Your niece.’

O’Bannion shook his head. ‘No, Corcoran’s my mother’s maiden name. Faith wasn’t a Corcoran. Her maiden name is Sullivan, but she still goes by her married name, Frye. She was divorced a few years ago, but never changed it back. What’s going on here?’

‘Faith changed her name last week,’ Deacon told him. ‘To Corcoran.’

‘Why?’ O’Bannion asked, genuinely puzzled. ‘She built her career using Frye. I figured that’s why she didn’t change it after the divorce.’ He waved an impatient hand. ‘I’ll ask her myself when I see her. None of that has anything do with whatever happened in the house. Why did your people take our furniture?’

‘Certain items were taken as evidence, sir,’ Bishop said. ‘You’ll get receipts for the items removed and everything will be returned in due course.’

‘In due course?’ He frowned. ‘That sounds like you expect this to be long and drawn out. I thought you found the girl. What’s really going on here?’

Deacon cut to the chase. ‘Where were you on Friday night, between eleven and one?’

O’Bannion’s eyes widened. They were green, just like Faith’s, Deacon noted. A dull red rose on the man’s cheekbones and his jaw clenched for a long moment. ‘You called me here to question me? Am I a suspect?’

‘You have access to the house, sir,’ Bishop said evenly. ‘We’re asking everyone.’

‘I do not have access to that house! I haven’t had a key in more than twenty years.’

Deacon kept his voice mild. ‘If you could just answer the question, sir, we can cross you off the list.’

O’Bannion’s nostrils flared. ‘I was at home.’

Something about the statement was off. ‘Do you have anyone who can verify this?’ Deacon asked, expecting O’Bannion to name Mary Jones, the housekeeper he had met behind the Mount Adams townhouse.

O’Bannion swallowed audibly. Then looked away. ‘Look, I wasn’t at my apartment. I was with my lover, who is married. If this gets out, her husband could ruin me.’

‘We’ll be discreet,’ Bishop promised. ‘Her name, sir?’

‘Alda Lane.’

The pink genie gymnast.
Well that makes a lot of sense
.

Bishop’s eyes had widened, surprising Deacon, because he didn’t remember telling her the name of the pink genie. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I see how that could be a problem.’ She glanced at Deacon. ‘Very old money. Mr Lane is a well-known patron of the arts. He’s elderly. Alda is quite a bit younger and an artist. A painter, as I recall.’

Deacon held his phone under the table and quickly texted Bishop.
Pink genie.

‘We met when I exhibited Alda’s work at my gallery,’ O’Bannion said. ‘We’ve been lovers for some time. Her husband could take me down over this.’

Bishop glanced down at her phone and didn’t miss a beat at the revelation. ‘We’ll be discreet,’ she said again. ‘Where might we contact her?’

O’Bannion’s face became even redder. ‘This is humiliating,’ he sputtered.

‘I can look up her address if you like, sir,’ Bishop offered. ‘The Lane mansion shouldn’t be too hard to find. Although I imagine I’ll have to sign in with security and give my name.’

O’Bannion’s jaw was trembling, he’d clenched it so tightly. ‘That won’t be necessary. Agent Novak’s already been there. She’s in the apartment above my gallery. It’s rented in her sister’s name.’ He rattled off the address through bared teeth. ‘It’s our place.’

‘Thank you,’ Bishop said politely. ‘Can you think of anyone else we should talk to?’

O’Bannion pulled his temper into check. ‘Depends on how old the victim is. If she’s a teenager?’ He hesitated, then shrugged. ‘My brother likes them young.’

‘Really?’ Deacon was a little surprised O’Bannion had offered his brother up so readily. ‘How young are we talking?’

‘Post-pubescent. If they get much older than sixteen or seventeen, he loses interest. At least he did. I’m told that individuals with those proclivities don’t really change their modus operandi.’ O’Bannion’s grimace was self-effacing. ‘Sorry. I obviously watch too much TV.’

He probably did watch too much TV, Deacon thought, but he had a point. College-aged Corinne had been the most recent target. Arianna was by far the youngest victim – and she appeared to have been an accidental acquisition. But Roza was only twelve or so. ‘When you say “at least he did”, what do you mean?’

‘My brother and I are not close. We haven’t spoken in years. He may have changed his ways. I certainly hope so.’

‘You know that he molested underage girls?’ Bishop asked sharply.

‘No, not at all. I said he
liked
them young, but he always made do with the “barely legal” group.’ He quirked his fingers in air quotes. ‘And I didn’t say girls, either. He preferred boys, but swung both ways as the opportunities presented themselves.’

‘Do you have names to go with any of these accusations?’ Bishop asked.

‘No. I kept to myself, he kept to himself. I heard voices in his bedroom, that’s all.’

Bishop’s brows shot up. ‘He brought them home?’

‘Sometimes. When our parents weren’t home, of course.’

‘Your parents wouldn’t have approved, I take it,’ Bishop said dryly.

‘Oh no. Our father was very strict. Homosexuality . . . well, that was simply unacceptable. My brother was disowned.’

‘Your father found out about his sexual orientation?’ Deacon said.

Deacon remembered what Faith had told him regarding the rumors around her grandfather’s death – that Jeremy had been so flamboyant about his sexuality that the elder O’Bannion had had a fatal heart attack. He made a mental note to share that with Bishop later.

‘Yes. It drove my father to his death, but Jeremy didn’t care. After that, the family splintered. Maggie died a few days later and my mother was never the same.’ He frowned, as if suddenly realizing he’d been sidetracked. ‘But that’s all water under the bridge and nothing to do with what’s happening in the house right now.’

‘You’re the one who suggested we talk to your brother,’ Deacon reminded him.

O’Bannion’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. ‘I didn’t mean that I actually thought . . . No. He’s perverted, but he’d never abduct a woman and . . .’ He shook his head. ‘The news reports said the girl had been assaulted. Jeremy wouldn’t do that.’

‘How do you know?’ Bishop asked. ‘You haven’t spoken to him in years.’