There were no credit cards currently registered or in use, no open auto loan, no personal credit lines. A quick scroll through the record showed that every account on the credit report had been closed.
Studying the record in more detail, she saw that there was one major default from a bank in Denver, four years earlier. It was listed under real estate, and from the size of it, she assumed it was a mortgage on a home.
There were a series of other late payments around that time. Visa. MasterCard. American Express. Phone bill. Electric bill. Water bill. Sears Card. All were registered as delinquent for a year but were eventually paid off.
Afterward, he’d closed the Visa and MasterCard accounts, as well as the American Express and Sears accounts.
Jennifer leaned back in her chair, thinking about it. Okay, she knew he’d lived in Denver at one point, and it seemed as if he’d run into some sort of financial trouble four years ago. Could be any number of explanations for that-lots of people weren’t too good at managing money-and he’d mentioned to Julie that he’d been divorced. Maybe that had something to do with it.
She stared at the screen. But why weren’t there any more recent entries?
He was probably using the corporation to pay his bills, just as he was doing with his rental, she thought. She made a note to check on it.
What else? Without a doubt, she knew she also had to find out more about Jessica. But without further information, there was absolutely nothing to go on.
Jennifer unplugged her laptop and stowed it in its padded case, wondering what to do next. Her best bet, she decided, was to wait until the personnel office opened so she could talk to the people there. Richard was a consulting engineer on a major project and working with a major company, so undoubtedly they had other references. Maybe one of them could shed light on what had happened four years ago. But that meant another hour of waiting.
Not knowing what else to do, she scanned the arrest report again before finally focusing on his address and thinking, Why not? She wasn’t even sure what she was looking for, exactly; she just wanted to see where he lived in the hope that it might give her more of an impression of the man. Her computer tucked under her arm, she grabbed a cup of coffee on her way out the door and got into her car.
Because she was still learning her way around, she checked the map in the glove compartment before following the main road out of town, into the rural area of the county.
Ten minutes later, Jennifer turned onto the gravel road where Richard Franklin lived. She slowed the car as she approached the mailbox, looking for a number, trying to estimate where she was. After finding it, she picked up speed again, seeing she had a ways to go.
She was struck by how remote these homes were. Most sat on multiple acres, and she wondered why an engineer from a major city would choose to live out this way. It was convenient neither to town nor to his job, nor to anything else, for that matter. And the road kept getting worse.
As she drove farther, the homes grew older and more run-down. More than one looked abandoned. She passed the ruins of an old tobacco barn. The sides had toppled when the roof caved in and kudzu blanketed the structure, weaving through the boards. Behind it sat the remains of a tractor, rusting in the weeds.
Another few minutes, another mailbox number. She was getting close now.
Jennifer slowed the car. His house, she assumed, was the next one on the right, and she spotted it through the trees. Set back from the road, the home was two stories, not as neglected as the others, but the yard was horribly overgrown.
Still . . .
People who lived out this way probably did so because it was family property or because they had no other choice. Why would he have chosen a place like this?
Because he wanted to hide?
Or was hiding something?
She didn’t stop the car; instead she drove past and made a U-turn half a mile up the road. The same questions cycled through her mind as she passed the house again and made her way back to the station.
The Guardian
Richard Franklin drew back from the curtains, frowning slightly.
He had a visitor, but he didn’t recognize the car. It wasn’t Mike or Julie, he knew. Neither of them owned a Honda, and he was certain they wouldn’t have come to look for him here. Nor was it anyone who lived out this way. The road ended a couple of miles up, and none of his neighbors owned a Honda.
But someone had come. He’d watched them creep up the road, driving way too slowly, knowing they were looking for something. The U-turn had confirmed his suspicions. If it had been a wrong turn or someone lost, they wouldn’t have slowed in front of his house-and only his house-then sped up again.
No, someone had come to see where he lived.
“What are you staring at?” Andrea asked.
Richard let the curtain fall back in place and turned. “Nothing,” he said.
The sheet had slipped down, exposing her br**sts. He moved toward the bed and sat beside her. On her arms he could see bruises, and he ran a tender finger over them.
“Good morning,” he said. “Did you sleep well?”
In the morning light, wearing only jeans, Richard looked exotic. Sensual. So what if he got a little rough last night?
Andrea pushed aside a loose strand of hair that had fallen across her cheek. “When we finally got around to sleeping, I did.”
“Are you hungry?”
“A little. But I have to go to the bathroom first. Where is it again? I was kind of tipsy last night.”
“It’s the last door on the right.”
Andrea scooted from the bed, taking the sheet as she went. Her legs felt wobbly as she moved out of the room. Richard watched her go, wishing she’d left the night before, then turned to the window again.
Someone had come to see where he lived.
Not Henry or Mabel, either. He knew their cars as well. Who was it, then? He rubbed his forehead.
The police? Yes, he could imagine Julie calling them. She’d been completely irrational yesterday. Scared and angry. And now she was trying to take control by changing the rules of the game.
But which officer had she called? Not Pete Gandy. He was sure of that. But how about the other one, the new one? What had Gandy said about her? That her father was a police officer in New York?
He thought about it.
Officer Romanello hadn’t believed his account about the altercation in the bar. He could read that in her eyes, in the way she’d watched him. And she was a woman.
Yes, he decided, it must have been her. But would Gandy be supporting her in this? No, not yet, he thought. And he would take care to make sure that Gandy wouldn’t. Officer Gandy was an idiot. He would be as easy to handle as Officer Dugan had been.
One part of the problem solved. Now, as for Julie . . .
Richard’s thoughts were interrupted by a scream coming from Andrea’s direction. When he went into the hallway, Andrea was standing still, staring with wide eyes, her hand over her mouth.
She hadn’t opened the door on the right, the one that led to the bathroom. She was staring into the room on the left.
The darkroom.
She turned to look at Richard as if seeing him for the first time.
“Oh my God,” she said. “Oh my God . . .”
Richard brought his finger to his lips, his eyes locked on her. “Shh . . .”
When she saw the look on his face, Andrea took a step backward.
“You shouldn’t have opened that door,” Richard said. “I told you where the bathroom was, but you didn’t listen.”
“Richard? The pictures . . .”
He took a step toward her. “This is so . . . disappointing.”
“Richard?” she whispered again, backing away.
The Guardian
Jennifer made it back with a few minutes to spare. Thankfully, Pete Gandy hadn’t arrived yet, and she went to his desk, knowing she didn’t have much time. She jotted the number of the main office for the bridge project on a scrap of paper, then put the arrest record back in the file where it belonged. No need for Pete to see what she’d been up to just yet.
She dialed the number, and a secretary answered; after Jennifer explained who she was, she asked to speak to Jake Blansen and was put on hold.
It was the man Mike had mentioned before.
As she was waiting, Jennifer reminded herself to tread carefully; the last thing she wanted was for Richard to find out what she was doing. Nor did she want Mr. Blansen to call and complain to her chief or tell her she’d need a subpoena to get this type of information. Neither of those were options, so instead she decided to stretch the truth just a bit, under the ruse of verifying the arrest report.
Jake Blansen came on the line, his voice husky and southern cured, as if he had smoked unfiltered cigarettes for fifty years. Jennifer identified herself as an officer in Swansboro, went through the customary small talk, and then segued into a brief recap of the incident.
“I can’t believe I misplaced the information regarding the arrest, and since I’m just starting, I don’t want to get into any more trouble than I’m already in. Nor do I want Mr. Franklin to think that we don’t have our act together. We want to have the record complete, in case he comes back in.”
She played the sheepish officer to the hilt, and though it was a shaky house of cards at best, Mr. Blansen didn’t seem to notice or care.
“I don’t know how much I can help you,” he said without hesitating, the words coming out in a slow drawl. “I’m just the foreman. You probably need to talk to corporate. They’re the ones that have that kind of information on the consultants. They’re in Ohio, but the secretary can get you the number.”
“Oh, I see. Well, maybe you can help me.”
“I don’t see how.”
“You worked with Richard Franklin, didn’t you? What’s he like?”
For a long moment, Jake Blansen was silent. Then:
“Is this for real?”
“Excuse me?”
“You. This. Losing the incident report. Being with the police. All of it.”
“Yes, of course. If you’d like, I can give you my extension and you can call me back. Or I could come out there.”
Jake Blansen drew a deep breath. “He’s dangerous,” he said in a low voice. “The company hired him because he keeps costs down, but he does it by scrimping on safety. I’ve had men hurt out here because of him.”
“How so?”
“He puts off maintenance, things break, people get hurt. OSHA would have a field day here. One week, it was one of the cranes. The next week, it’s a boiler in one of the barges. I even reported it to corporate, and they promised to look into it. But I guess he found out and he came after me.”
“He attacked you?”
“No . . . but he threatened me. In an indirect way. He started off like we were buddies, you know? Asking about the wife and the kids, things like that. And then he told me how disappointed he was that I didn’t trust him, and that if I wasn’t more careful, he’d have to let me go. Like all of this was my fault, and he was doing me a big favor by trying to protect me. And he puts his arm over my shoulders and sort of mumbles that it would be a shame if there were any more accidents. . . . The way he said it gave me the feeling he was talking about me and my family specifically. He gave me the creeps, and to be honest, I was thrilled to see him go. I danced a jig the rest of the day. So did everyone else on the project.”
“Wait . . . he left?”
“Yeah. He quit. Had some out-of-town emergency, and when he got back to town, he let us know he needed to take some time off for personal reasons. Haven’t seen him since.”
A minute later, after being transferred back to the secretary and getting the number in Ohio she needed, Jennifer hung up the phone and called the corporate headquarters. She got passed from one person to the next before she was finally told that the person who could help was out temporarily but would be back later that afternoon.
Jennifer jotted down the name of the man she should call-Casey Ferguson-and leaned back in her chair.
Richard was dangerous, he’d said. All right, but she already knew that. What else? Richard had quit his job a month ago; he’d told her and Pete something different. It wasn’t something that would normally matter, but the timing didn’t escape her.
He’d quit after coming back from the emergency. He’d quit after Julie had told him she didn’t want to see him anymore.
A connection?
Across the room, she saw Pete Gandy walk through the door. He hadn’t seen her sitting at his desk, and she was glad of that. She needed just a moment more.
Definitely too coincidental, she decided, especially after learning what she had earlier this morning about his past. But Julie, by her own admission, had seen Richard only a few times, and though he’d called her on numerous occasions, he’d never stayed on the phone long.
Jennifer glanced out the window, wondering.
What else had he been doing with his time since then?
The Guardian
Mike pulled his truck to a stop at the garage. The fog was finally beginning to thin. Julie was looking toward the floor of the truck, and he followed her gaze, coming to rest on the tips of her shoes. They were coated with a layer of dew from her lawn, and when Julie realized what she was looking at, she gave a halfhearted shrug as if to say, I guess we’ll see what happens today.
Neither had slept well, and both had spent the morning moving sluggishly. The night before, Mike couldn’t seem to get comfortable and he got up four times to get a glass of water. While he was up, he found himself drawn to the front window, where he stood for a long time, looking out. Julie, on the other hand, had spent the night dreaming. Though she couldn’t remember any dreams in detail, she woke with a feeling of dread. That feeling lingered and returned in waves as she dressed and ate breakfast.
When Julie got out of the car, she felt no more in control than she’d felt earlier. Mike hugged and kissed her and offered to walk her across the street to the salon, but Julie declined. Singer, meanwhile, bounded down and headed toward the salon in search of his biscuit.