The Red Queen Dies (34 page)

“Not me, Detective Baxter, the restaurant's owner. My company invested in the project, but that was the extent of it.”

McCabe said, “Have you eaten there often yourself?”

“Now, you see, that's the irony. The vertical farm's great, fantastic. Unfortunately, the food, although served in a colorful, fun setting, is mediocre.” He smiled. “Of course, I'd rather you didn't tell the owner I said that.”

“Wouldn't think of it,” McCabe said. “So you have eaten there?”

“Twice, as I recall. A lunch meeting and dinner. I assume you're about to get to the reason that you're asking me about one of my business investments?”

“Yes, I am, sir. Did you know that Bethany Clark, the killer's first victim, worked at Pluto's Planet? Had worked there from the time the restaurant opened.”

“In what capacity? A waitress?” Sorry, they're called ‘servers,' aren't they? I've always found that word rather demeaning.”

“I think it's preferred because it can apply to a man or a woman. But getting back to whether you knew that Bethany Clark worked there. I gather you're saying that you didn't.”

“Sorry … didn't I make myself clear? No, I did not know that Bethany Clark worked at Pluto's Planet. I don't remember seeing her there the two times I was a customer in the restaurant. If I had and had recognized her photograph, I would have told you that I had. Clear enough, Detective McCabe?” A glance at Baxter. “Detective Baxter?”

Baxter grinned. “Crystal clear to me. How about you, partner?”

McCabe said, “Sorry if we've upset you, Mr. Thornton.”

“Not at all. I guess I'm a bit touchy about having my integrity questioned.”

“Of course. That wasn't our intent. We only wondered if you might not have realized that Bethany Clark had worked at a restaurant that you invested in.”

“And now you know that I didn't know that. Any other questions?”

“Actually, there is something else. We were wondering if you could tell us anything about Vivian Jessup's grandfather. Did she ever talk to you about him?”

“May I ask why you want to know?”

McCabe stared back at him, then shook her head. “I'm afraid I can't go into that right now. But please take my word for it that it's important.”

Thornton flashed his trademark smile. “Taking … taking a woman on trust can get a man into all kinds of trouble.”

“Don't think of me as a woman, Mr. Thornton. Think of me as a cop. However, I can't compel you to answer my questions—”

Thornton held up his hand. “Detective McCabe, I'm … I'm happy to tell you anything I know.”

“About Vivian Jessup's grandfather—”

“Vivian was proud of her grandfather's place in the history of British theater and the family dynasty he had established. As I'm sure you know, Vivian's sister and brother are prominent in British theater. Their father was famous for his Shakespearean roles.”

“That's a coincidence,” McCabe said. “The Booth family—John Wilkes Booth himself and his brothers and father—”

“Vivian said that was probably where John Wilkes got the idea that the assassination of a leader could be honorable.”

Baxter cleared his throat. “Afraid I'm not up on my Shakespeare.”

“Brutus,” Thornton said. “And the assassination of Caesar.”

McCabe said, “Getting back to Ms. Jessup's grandfather. Did she ever talk about what it was like for him during World War Two?”

“The Nazis killed his parents and siblings. He managed to survive.” Thornton shook his head. “Vivian said he spent the rest of his life trying to justify his survival.”

“Was that all she said?”

“There wasn't much more to say, was there?”

“Did she ever mention an interview her grandfather had done about being a prison camp survivor? His was one of about twenty interviews and photographs in this collection.”

“Did you notice the name of the photographer?”

“No, I didn't.”

“Alex Snowden,” Thornton said.

“Never heard of him,” Baxter said.

Thornton's dark brow went up as he turned to McCabe's partner. “Haven't you, Detective?”

“Nope. Who is he?”

“Was. He died of a heart attack a few years ago. He was well into his nineties by then. Alex started out taking family portraits. He graduated to award-winning photo essays, such as the one he did on prison camp survivors. Then he turned to … to fashion photography, and became equally famous in that area. During his latter years, when most men would have been resting on their laurels, he took up adventure photography.”

“So you knew him personally?” McCabe said.

“I did.”

“And your fiancée, Ms. Nichols? She does adventure photography. Did she know Alex Snowden?”

“Actually, she did an apprenticeship with him.”

“No kidding,” Baxter said. “But I guess she would have been too young to have worked on the photo essay that Snowden did on the prison camp survivors.”

“Much too young,” Thornton said.

McCabe said, “Was it Mr. Snowden who recommended Ms. Nichols to you when your other photographer—no, you said he died of a heart attack a few years ago. So was it just a coincidence that Ms. Nichols, who had apprenticed with Mr. Snowden—”

“Forgive me, Detective McCabe, but I don't see what this has to do with Vivian or her grandfather. Am I missing something?”

McCabe gave him her best smile. “No, sorry, I was just curious.” She stood up. “But we've taken up enough of your time. We should go and let you get back to work.”

Baxter finished off his second cup of coffee and got to his feet. “Yeah, Ashby said you were really busy today.”

“I do have another appointment. I managed to change the time when I heard you needed to see me.” Thornton gestured toward the closed door. “Let me walk you out.”

“Thank you,” McCabe said. “No need. And thank you for fitting us in.”

“Always glad to do anything I can to help. I want to find Vivian's killer, Detective.”

*   *   *

“What happened to the sun?” Baxter said.

They stood outside Thornton's office building, looking at the sky, which had gone from blue to gray with streaks of yellow.

“The wind's picked up, too,” McCabe said. “I guess that back-door cold front the weatherman was talking about arrived early.”

“Brrr,” Baxter said. He pulled up the collar of his thermo jacket. “It would be nice to know at least a couple of hours in advance what the weather's going to be like.”

“As long as we don't get snow for Halloween. And if we've finished discussing the weather, we'd better get moving.”

“What's the hurry?”

“Alex Snowden,” McCabe said, leading the way toward their car. “I want to know more about the whole Lisa being his apprentice thing.”

“Think there's something there?”

“Didn't you get the impression that Thornton didn't want to talk about it?”

“I got the impression that he was finding us generally annoying today.”

“That, too. Your turn to drive.”

With what sounded like a sigh of resignation, Baxter got behind the wheel of the vehicle they had drawn that day, another older-model sedan with no bells and whistles.

*   *   *

McCabe set the bag containing her black bean burger and coleslaw down on her desk. Before sitting down, she brought up the master file to see if there was anything new from Research.

She scanned through the follow-up report.

“It looks like Ted Thornton's people aren't quite as efficient as he thinks they are.”

Baxter looked up from unwrapping his cheeseburger. “What did they miss?”

“Research found a discrepancy when they started to dig into Lisa Nichols's background. They aren't sure what the story is yet, but they're working with the Bureau, checking databases.”

“For what?”

“It seems the child who matches our Lisa Nichols's birth record died when she was three years old. They aren't sure who our Lisa Nichols is.”

Baxter chewed and swallowed. “Dang. She bought a new identity.”

“Or someone gave it to her.”

“Can we at least finish eating before we jump on this one?”

“Sounds good to me. I think we're going to need our strength when we tackle Ted Thornton about his fiancée.”

“I wonder where she is today.”

“Bruce Ashby can probably tell us.”

Before calling Ashby, they gave Lieutenant Dole an update. He nodded. “Go for it. But don't screw this one up, you hear me?”

When McCabe reached Ashby on her ORB, she put him on visual. He frowned when McCabe asked if he knew the whereabouts of his boss's fiancée.

“Lisa? She and Ted had lunch together.”

McCabe said, “So Mr. Thornton took a break from his appointments to have lunch with his fiancée?”

“She came by,” Ashby said. “They ate downstairs in the cafeteria. What is this about?”

“We need to speak to Ms. Nichols.”

“About what?”

“We would prefer to discuss that with her.”

“Then you'll have to find her. I have no idea where she is.”

“Could you ask Mr. Thornton where she was going after lunch?”

“He's on a call with our London office.”

“I see. When he gets off his call, would you please tell Mr. Thornton that Detective Baxter and I need to speak to him again? We're on our way back to his office.”

She disconnected before Bruce Ashby could object.

 

33

 

“More questions about Pluto's Planet or Vivian's grandfather?” Ted Thornton said when his secretary escorted them back into his office.

McCabe said, “No, it's about your fiancée. Didn't Mr. Ashby mention that?”

“No, he just told me that you were on your way back over.” Ted Thornton waved them to the seats they had occupied earlier. “What about my fiancée?”

“We need to speak to her,” McCabe said. “But Mr. Ashby tells us he isn't sure of her whereabouts right now. We hoped you might be able to help us find her.”

“Why do you want to speak to Lisa?”

McCabe met his gaze. “Mr. Thornton, we have some news that you may find distressing.”

“Please … please, go on, Detective McCabe.”

“It's about Ms. Nichols. It seems she isn't who she claims to be. In fact, we aren't sure who she is.”

Thornton was silent for a long moment. Then he said, “Actually, I've been waiting for her to tell me about that.”

Baxter said, “So you know that she's been lying about—”

“I … I've known it for some time now.”

McCabe said, “And you haven't confronted her?”

Thornton looked down and then glanced around his office. “You see the thing is … the really awkward thing is … I'm in love with her. Believe it or not, that's never happened to me before.” He shrugged, hunching one shoulder higher than the other. “So I wanted to enjoy it as long as I could. Before Bruce makes me … makes me face the fact that the woman I'm in love with is … is probably a cheat and a liar.”

“Then Mr. Ashby suspects her?” McCabe said.

“Bruce always suspects women who show an interest in me. He's convinced any woman who would have me must be after my money.”

McCabe said, “Mr. Thornton, I'm sorry about this … but we have three dead women, and your fiancée isn't who she claims to be. It is possible that she's involved somehow in our case.”

Thornton said. “So … so I guess we'd better find her and try to get this all cleared up.”

He stood up and went over to his desk.

A moment later, his secretary opened the door. “Yes, Mr. Thornton?”

“Would you ask Bruce to step in, Sheila?”

“I'm sorry, sir. Mr. Ashby went out. He said there was something he needed to take care of and that he would check in later.”

“Thank you, Sheila. That's all for now.”

Thornton went back to his desk and picked up his ORB.

McCabe and Baxter waited.

Thornton turned to them. “Bruce isn't answering. Neither is Lisa.”

*   *   *

At Ted Thornton's estate, Rosalind, the maid, responded to the summons that she had received. “What may I do for you, sir?”

Bruce Ashby turned to look into the wide eyes in the metallic face. “Do you have the access code to Ms. Nichols's room?”

“Yes, sir. I am authorized to clean her room when she's absent.”

He pointed at the door. “Open it.”

“I am not authorized to do that, Mr. Ashby.”

“I'm authorizing you,” Ashby said. “Open the damn door.”

“I'm sorry, sir. I cannot do that without Ms. Nichols's authorization.”

The maid turned and began to glide away.

“Damn you, you tin can! Open this door.”

“My name is Rosalind, sir. And I cannot carry out your request without authorization from Ms. Nichols.”

She left him standing there with his fists clenched.

Baxter kicked the locked door of Lisa Nichols's room. He cursed at the pain that shot up his leg.

*   *   *

Lisa Nichols looked down at the tag on her ORB. She was sitting in the red sports car, which she was using that day. It occurred to her that she might have chosen less conspicuous transportation if she had known how the day was going to go.

But she hadn't known that everything was about to unravel until she went to Ted's office. Over lunch, he had given her one of his lopsided smiles and then told her about his visit from Detectives McCabe and Baxter. They had wanted to know about his business interest in Pluto's Planet and Vivian Jessup's grandfather.

“Actually, your name came up, my love.”

“It did?”