Forgotten (23 page)

“Hello, Danielle.” Portia smiled as pleasantly as she could. “Nice to see you again.”

Danielle smiled and turned back to her friends. Jim seemed not to have noticed Portia’s odd reception, as his nephew was coming up to bat.

“There’s Finn, Portia. He’s just up now.”

Cheers went up from the sideline as a small boy in the blue shirt took a swing. The ball sat on top of what looked to Portia to be a tube that held it roughly at eye level with Finn. He connected with the ball on the first try, and as he ran the bases, the cheers and applause were led by his proud uncle.

“He’s got a good swing,” Jim told her. “Did you see how far into the outfield that ball went?”

“Does he enjoy playing?” Portia thought back to hours spent playing softball on the local girls’ club team in the town where she and Miranda grew up.

She’d hated every minute of it.

“He loves it. He’d play all day, every day, if he could. The camp he goes to has ball games in the morning and every other day they play soccer or lacrosse. He’s really into it all.”

“Were you, as a kid?”

“I played everything. Pete taught me everything that he learned. He was good at it all,” Jim told her.

At the mention of their deceased brother’s name, Dani glanced over her shoulder at Jim, but did not comment.

The rest of the boys on the field took their turns at bat, running the bases after getting a hit. Some got tagged out at second. At the end of the game, Finn’s team had won by a considerable margin.

“You’re staying for pizza, right?” Jim asked Portia as they watched the boys line up to congratulate the opposing team on their play.

“You’re taking the boys,” Danielle said. “Did you forget?”

“No, I didn’t forget,” he turned to his sister. “Did you forget your manners?”

For a moment Danielle glared at Jim. Then she turned on her heel and walked away, calling to her son to gather his friends.

“I’m so sorry,” Jim said apologetically. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”

“You’re her protector, her brother.” Portia shrugged. “Maybe she sees any woman you date as a threat to that relationship. You said yourself that your family is down to the three of you now.”

“That doesn’t excuse her bad manners,” he said, his hands on his hips. “Especially to you.”

“You said she hasn’t liked any of the women you’ve dated, Jim.”

“You’re not any woman.”

“I like the sound of that. So I think I’ll just choose to not take your sister personally, and we’ll go join the team for pizza.” She took his hand and tugged him toward the parking lot. “What do you say?”

“She still owes you an apology.” He let her lead him to the car.

“She’ll offer one—or not—when she’s ready. In the meantime, introduce me to this fantabulous nephew of yours.”

Finn didn’t seem overly impressed to be meeting one of his uncle’s girlfriends until they reached the restaurant. They’d pushed together several tables so that the entire team could eat together. Portia found herself seated across from Jim, and between two of Finn’s teammates.

“What do you do, Portia?” one of the mothers asked from the opposite side of the table.

“I work for the FBI,” Portia replied.

“Like, an FBI agent?” Finn asked.

“Exactly like that, yes.”

“Wow.” Justin, the seven-year-old to her left, looked up at her, wide-eyed. “You get to carry a gun and all that?”

“Yes.”

“Where is it now?” he asked. “Where’s your gun?”

“I’m wearing it.”

“Can I see it? Please?” he pleaded.

“Yeah, let us see your gun,” Finn chimed in.

“I don’t think that’s really appropriate,” Danielle said somewhat sternly. “I don’t think you should go to dinner with a bunch of first-graders carrying a gun.”

“Sorry, Danielle, but it’s part of my job.” Portia forced a smile and concentrated on the slice of pepperoni pizza on her plate.

“All the same, I don’t think guns belong at the dinner table,” Danielle snapped.

Jim started to speak, but the look Portia shot him—
I can handle this myself, thank you
—was loud and clear.

“I’d agree, if I were flashing a weapon around, it would be inappropriate. But I was asked about it, and I answered. If Justin hadn’t asked, no one would have known.”

“Can I just have a peek?” Justin whispered in her ear.

“I’m afraid not,” Portia told him. “I think Finn’s mom is right in one respect. I have to have it on, but I shouldn’t be showing it around. It isn’t a toy.”

“Nuts,” he muttered.

A few minutes later, he asked, “Is it in a holster?”

“Yes, it is.”

They finished eating and the crew of boys was gathered up to leave. Once outside, Justin tiptoed up behind her and pulled on one side of her jacket.

“I saw it!” he called to the others. “I saw the gun.”

“You little monkey,” Portia laughed, ruffling his blond hair. “And for the record, all you saw was the holster.”

“We want to see, too,” the other boys sang.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said, lifting her jacket. “There. Now you’ve all seen what Justin saw. Which was mostly brown leather.”

“I saw it,” one of the boys said as the crowd dispersed into their respective vehicles. “I saw the gun in the holster.”

“Me, too. I saw it,” another said.

“Dear Lord.” Portia laughed in spite of the situation.

“I saw it, too,” Jim said, taking her hand. “And if I play my cards right, I’ll get to see it again sometime.”

“I’d say your chances are quite good, Counselor.”

He walked her to her car and opened the door for her. He stopped her from getting in by putting his arms around her and kissing her deeply. “How does the weekend look for you? Think we could spend a little time together?” he asked.

“I think we could work something out.”

“I have a trial starting on Tuesday, and I need to prepare for that, but I could take a break.”

“All work, no play, yada yada yada.”

“Exactly.” He started to kiss her again, when Finn called to him. “Uncle Jimmy, Tad has to go to the bathroom.”

“Better take charge there, Uncle Jimmy.” She eased from his embrace and got into the car.

“Be careful,” he said when she rolled down the window.

“I’m always careful.” She backed out of the parking space, and turned to wave good-bye to Jim, Finn, and the boys gathered around his car, waiting for their ride home.

On her way out of the lot, she drove past a brown sedan parked near a grove of trees, all but hidden from view.

H
e felt a certain sense of purpose driving home. He’d been unsure for a while, but now he was more focused. It had been a good idea to follow her, to follow the man. It helped him find his sense of direction, like following a good map to a destination you’d been unsure of.

Well, he wasn’t unsure anymore. She knew he was watching, she must—otherwise, why would she have paraded all those boys in front of him? Wasn’t she tempting him…challenging him? Daring him to take one?

Of course she was. She was more clever than he’d given her credit for. He’d have to be even smarter, though—if she was using the boys for bait, he’d have to be very smart indeed to not get caught.

He had to think on this awhile.

Soon enough, he was home, turning on the lamps in the living room. He walked past the old upright piano that no one ever played anymore and banged on a few of the keys. He smiled, remembering how that always drove his mother crazy, when he’d bang out chords instead of playing the songs she’d spent hours teaching him.

He wondered why he kept the damned thing. He’d hated playing it, hated all that it stood for.

“A piano is a beautiful instrument,” she’d chastise him. “You should treat it with respect.”

“Yes, Mom. Sorry, Mom.”

“Come back in here and practice your lessons,” she’d yell at him when he’d sneak outside to play. “You’ll never be a famous pianist if you don’t practice.”

“I don’t want to be a pianist, Mom.”

“Of course, you do. You want to be special, don’t you?”

“No. I want to…”

Smack.

“Don’t you?”

“Yes, Mom. Sorry, Mom.” His face stinging from the slap, he’d sit at the bench and try to concentrate, try to remember what she’d taught him, his trembling fingers hovering over the keys before he’d start to play.

“That was the wrong chord. Play it again,” she’d demand.

“Yeah, sorry, Mom,” he smirked and turned her photograph facedown on the piano top. Usually, it worked to shut off her voice in his head.

You’ll never be much of anything, you know that, don’t you? Not smart like your brother. Not good-looking like your sister. You really don’t have a whole lot going for you, you know? I tried to teach you to play, tried to give you something that would make you special, but you just weren’t good enough. Just how do you think you’re going to make your mark in this world, if there’s nothing special about you?

He felt the humiliation rise within him; all he heard in his head was her voice, shrill and demanding, drowning out his own thoughts.

“Shut up, Mom,” he said aloud. “Just…shut up.”

He turned off the light, went into the kitchen, and filled a glass of water from the tap while his plan took place in his head. When he had it all down pat, he went back into the living room and picked up the photograph.

“You want to see special?” he said. “I’ll show you special. Your nothing-going-for-him son is about to turn the FBI on its ass…”

TWENTY-FIVE

“I
found a couple of the ex-husbands,” Livy told Portia the next morning. “Three, actually. Aaron Woods—Sheldon’s father—died in 1992. Liver cancer. Andrew Lewis is working for a car dealer in Pittsburgh. He’s happily married and has three kids. He may not be interested in rehashing that time in his life. Bob Davey is in Maine, works in a restaurant, but I’m not sure what he does there. I e-mailed the addresses, phone numbers, and pertinent data to you about two minutes ago.”

“Terrific. Thanks a million.” Portia turned on the computer and waited for her e-mail to appear.

“I haven’t found anything on the brother yet, but I’m searching under each of the ex-husbands’ surnames. It’s taking a while,” she said drily. “I have a few more avenues to explore, though, so let me get back to you on him.

“Great. Thanks.” Portia printed out Livy’s e-mail and reached for the phone. She called the number for the car dealership where Andrew Lewis was employed.

“I’d like to speak with Andrew Lewis, if he’s there,” she said when the call was answered.

“One moment, please. I’ll connect you.”

“This is Andy Lewis. How can I help you?”

“Mr. Lewis, my name is Portia Cahill. I’m with the FBI.”

The silence on the other end of the phone was long and drawn out.

“Mr. Lewis? Are you there?”

“I’m here. What do you want?”

“I want to talk to you about your ex-wife.”

“Which one?”

“Rhona.”

“Oh, wait. Let me guess. This is about that wacky kid of hers, right?” He blew out a breath. “Look, I’ve worked really hard for a long time to put her and that kid of hers out of my life. I have a nice wife, three really terrific kids…I don’t know Rhona anymore, haven’t had any contact with her in years.”

“I’m calling about her son, Mr. Lewis.”

“Yeah, well, like I said, the younger one, he was a wacko.” He lowered his voice. “I heard all about him. Read about him. All those little kids…Jesus, to think I lived under the same roof as him.”

“Not that son. The younger one, Teddy.”

“Teddy?” he repeated. “I don’t remember Teddy. Just the older one, Dougie, he was pretty quiet. Kept to himself a lot. And the younger one. There were only the two of them.”

“You lived with Rhona for how many years, Mr. Lewis?”

“Three. Craziest three years of my life, I don’t mind saying it. Rhona, she’s a trip. She’s one hot mama, let me put it that way.”

“Mr. Lewis, it’s come to light that Sheldon had been sexually assaulted as a child. Would you know anything about that?”

“Huh? He was…” There was a deep intake of breath. “Uh-uh. No, no. Did she say I was molesting her kid? Is she totally nuts? Christ almighty, she ought to know I never had time for anything but her. When I said she was a hot mama, I meant…”

“Sir? No one’s accusing you of anything. Rhona never said it was you, Sheldon never said it was you. I’m trying to find out when this occurred. If you say it wasn’t you, I believe you.” She did. His reaction had been so instantaneous, so genuine, she thought they could cross him off their list. “We’re just trying to get a feel for what it was like in that house, what the relationships were like. Between the two boys, between the sons and the mother…”

“Oh, I can answer that one. It was weird. Really, really weird.”

“What do you mean, weird?”

“Rhona wanted the boys to sleep in the bed with her when I was gone. I drove a long-haul back then, I was gone a lot. She used to call them her ‘little men.’”

“Thank you, Mr. Lewis. You’ve been very helpful.”

“I haven’t really told you anything, but yeah, you’re welcome. Now please, could you just not call again? ’Cause I wouldn’t want it to get out that I knew that guy that killed all those kids…”

The story was pretty much the same when she spoke with Robert Davey.

“Rhona’s a real nutcase. But she was one hell of a woman.”

“Why’d you get divorced, could I ask?”

“Rhona had a roaming eye. We’d been together four years before she found someone else, and I don’t mind saying they were four happy years for me. I really loved her. We’d have stayed together, as far as I’m concerned, if it hadn’t been for the fact that she was one of those women who are just never satisfied, know what I mean? Always looking out for someone better.” He cleared his throat. “I read about the trouble that boy of hers had ten years or so back. Well, I sure saw that coming.”

“What do you mean?”

“I never saw such a mama’s boy.”

“And the other two brothers? What was your impression of them?”

“Other two? No, no, there was only one other kid. The older one, I forget his name. Nice kid. I told Rhona she was setting herself up for trouble, the way she treated them.”

“What way was that?”

“She pretty much ignored the older one. Thought the sun rose and set on that younger one, though. I used to tell her, it ain’t right. You’re supposed to love all your children the same. That younger one, she just doted on him.”

“Mr. Davey, Sheldon has told psychologists that he was abused as a child. Do you have any idea of who could have been responsible for that?”

“Abused? You mean, like molested?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what I mean.”

“I don’t know of anyone who would have…wait a minute, are you thinking it was me?”

“No, sir. I was just asking if you had any idea of who it might have been.”

“I honestly don’t know. Like I said, I was gone a lot of the time. Was Rhona sneaking someone in the house when I wasn’t there? You’d have to ask her that.”

“Anything else you can tell me?”

“No, ma’am. Just that Rhona, she sure did love those boys of hers.”

“Thank you, Mr. Davey. I appreciate your time.”

Portia put the phone down and looked out the window, studying the picture that had formed in her mind. Douglas—Dougie—was Mommy’s little man until Sheldon came along. Then Sheldon be came the favorite. He’d been a beautiful boy, Rhona had told her, an angel. So Mommy had favored her beautiful child over Douglas, and Douglas had come to resent it. He’d been an only child for several years, he’d had all her attention, all her love. Then along came Sheldon, and Douglas was no longer number one in Mommy’s eyes. Douglas reacted by keeping more and more to himself as he got older, leaving home at the earliest possible time. Years later, when Teddy came along, had he taken Sheldon’s place in Mommy’s heart, becoming the favored one? Had Sheldon resented Teddy so much that he’d killed him?

And what does that say about Mommy, Portia asked herself. Had she been playing a deliberate game with her sons, pitting brother against brother, playing their love for her against the love they had for each other, stirring up their jealousy until it erupted in murder?

What kind of mother would do such things?

S
he left the office almost on time and arrived at Miranda and Will’s townhouse a little after eight. She stopped at the grocery store on the way, picking up the ingredients for a real dinner. She’d been eating crap for the past week and her body was feeling the effects. She was tired, not sleeping well, and she was afraid that her last really good meal had been those crabs back on Dufree Island. She was tempted to call Jim, to invite him over to share the steak she’d just bought, but she knew he was preparing for his case in the morning. She knew, too, there was a damned good chance they’d end up skipping dinner altogether. At least, if she had her way, they would. Still, she’d debated with herself all the way home. Call. Don’t call. Call. Don’t…

“Hey, there you are.” Miranda stepped into the hall from the kitchen.

“When did you get back?” Portia hugged her sister to welcome her home. Just as well she hadn’t made that call to Jim after all. “Did you have a good time?”

“About an hour ago, and yes, we had a fabulous time, for the short amount of time we had. Did you speak with John? He’s been trying to get you for over an hour.”

“I have my phone with me.” Portia frowned and searched her bag for her phone. “I stopped at McKenzie’s Market on the way home…” She checked her pockets. No phone. “I must have dropped it in the car. Did he say what he wanted?”

“Just that it was really important.”

“I’ll run out to the car and take a look.”

Portia looked through the front seat, under the stack of paper napkins she picked up at a fast-food place and under the driver’s seat. The phone had fallen between the seat and the console. She had to slide the seat back in order to reach it. When she picked it up, she checked the missed messages, then listened to her voice mail as she walked back into the house. Two of the calls were from John, and one was from Eileen on his behalf.

“He needs to talk to you ASAP, hon,” Eileen had said in her always-calm tone. “It’s important.”

“Then why didn’t he leave a message?” she muttered.

She’d just come through the front door, and was about to speed-dial John, when Miranda came out of the living room, holding the house phone.

“It’s John,” she said, and handed Portia the receiver.

“John, sorry, I just got home and heard that you’d…”

“There’s been another one. I sent Livy out when I couldn’t get in touch with you—she’s already on her way to the crime scene, but under the circum stances, you need to be out there, too.”

“Where?”

“Kendall Road in Parker, right off Route Forty.”

Portia stopped in midstride.

“Portia? Did you hear me?”

“Yes.” Somehow she managed to get out the words. “I heard you.”

“Hang on and I’ll give you directions.”

“Never mind,” she told him. “I know where it is.”

“You do?” He paused. “It’s a Little League ball-field, Portia.”

“I know. I was there. Last night. Jim’s nephew was playing tee-ball there.”

There was silence on both ends of the line.

“I hope that’s just a coincidence, Portia.”

“So do I.” She swallowed hard. “What’s the victim’s name?”

“I don’t have the name, just the location. The local police called it in, said they’d gotten an anonymous heads-up that a body was there and that they were to call the FBI in.”

“I’m on my way.” Suddenly, she couldn’t wait to get off the phone and out the door.

“Portia, check on Jim’s nephew, why don’t you?”

“As we speak, John.” Her own phone was in her hand and she was dialing.

“Let me know.”

“Will do.”

When Jim didn’t pick up his cell, she tried his office. An unfamiliar male voice answered.

“I’ll see if Mr. Cannon is in his office,” he told her.

A moment later, Jim was on the line.

“Portia?”

“Jim, Finn…his friends from tee-ball…are any of them missing?”

“What? What did you say?”

“Are any of Finn’s friends missing?”

“I haven’t heard of any…wait a minute. What’s going on?”

“I just got called out to a scene where another boy has been found.” She could barely get the words out. “He was found in Kendall Park, Jim.”

“Jesus God. Let me call Dani…she might know. I’ll get back to you.”

“Jim, find out where Finn is.”

“That’s the first thing I’m going to do.”