Stolen In The Night Part 18

"I heard they've arrested someone for your sister's murder," said Chan, absently pus.h.i.+ng back his s.h.i.+ny black hair.

Tess hesitated. "Arrested?" she asked.

"Well, they have a suspect they're questioning." Chan shook his head and his black locks fell into his eyes again. "It's just hard to believe that after all these years, all that's happened, they could find the real killer so quickly."

Tess avoided looking at him. "It is amazing."

"We could be waiting here for quite a while. Can I buy you a cup of coffee while we wait?" he asked.

"I suppose so," said Tess.

Chan pointed to the Dunkin' Donuts across the street, which was doing a brisk business thanks to the a.s.sembled newspeople. People were streaming out of the store carrying paper trays of steaming coffee cups and bags of food. "Let's go over there. At least we can sit down."

"All right," said Tess. He must have been a beautiful child, she thought, glancing at his square jaw and his long black eyelashes, and then, inevitably, her thoughts returned to her own child. "I guess my son created a little excitement over at your house yesterday," Tess said as they hurried along the sidewalk to the store.

Chan looked puzzled. "I'm sorry. What do you mean?"

"Oh, I figured you knew."

"Knew what?" Chan asked.

"My son, Erny, was...fooling around and he fell out of a tree on your property. Jake had to take him to the emergency room."

"Really? You're kidding."

"Fortunately, he wasn't hurt. Just bruised and shook up," said Tess, although Chan hadn't asked.

"Well, that's good. No, I didn't know anything about it," Chan said. He reached out to open the door and ushered Tess into the bubble gum pink-and-white interior of the donut shop. Most of the TV people were collecting their orders and leaving, unwilling to miss a moment of recordable action or a sound bite, so the tables and booths in the store were mostly empty. Chan chose a beige Formica-topped booth in the rear and brought back two steaming cups.

Tess thanked him. She did not want to be recognized, so she sat with her back to the counter activity. Chan, on the other hand, wanted to keep an eye on the station house, just in case someone emerged to give a statement, so he sat facing the door. He shrugged off his field coat. Beneath it, he was wearing a striped broadcloth s.h.i.+rt with rolled-up sleeves. "I hope we'll find out what's going on soon. I have to put the paper to bed this afternoon and if there is an arrest I'd like to get it on the front page." Chan blew on his coffee. "Do you have any idea who the suspect is?" he asked.

Tess continued to stir her coffee, her gaze riveted to the plastic stirrer. The steam from the hot beverages rose up around them, enveloping them in a private haze. "No," she said.

Chan frowned. His pale gray eyes narrowed. "I've heard rumors that it might be...Nelson Abbott."

"Nelson Abbott?" Tess exclaimed, trying to feign surprise.

Chan nodded. "I know. It's freaking me out."

"Doesn't he work for your family?" Tess asked.

Chan raked back his hair. "Yeah. For years. My grandfather hired him when they first moved to the farm. And then, after he died, even during that business with Lazarus, my grandmother kept Nelson on. She couldn't have managed without him. She was too busy running the newspaper. My mom always said the newspaper was Nana's real child." Chan leaned across the table and spoke to her in a confidential tone. "You know, you didn't seem all that surprised when I mentioned Nelson Abbott as the possible suspect."

"I didn't?" said Tess, fl.u.s.tered.

"You knew, didn't you?" he said.

"No, really. I didn't," she insisted.

Chan looked at her skeptically. "I have to wonder, what kind of evidence would have led them to Nelson Abbott after all these years?"

Tess looked at the publisher incredulously. "Oh, come on," she said. "Are you serious? Do you really have to wonder? I mean, when you think about how this case was reopened in the first place?"

Chan frowned. "Ramsey got it reopened," he said.

Tess frowned. She wondered if Chan was being deliberately obtuse. DNA results were the heart and soul of this case. She remembered Jake scoffing that Chan was no journalist, that he was a lightweight who had simply inherited the paper. She wondered if her brother might be right. "Well," she said, "I'm sure it will all be common knowledge very soon."

"You know what the evidence is, don't you?" Chan asked.

Tess gave him a half smile. "I'm afraid I can't be much help to you."

Suddenly there was a burst of activity at the front of the store. Chan sat up straight and looked out at the street. "Uh-oh," he said. "Something's happening." Tess turned around in her seat. She could see several people gathering in the vestibule of the police station.

Chan jumped up and pulled on his jacket. "Let's go," he said.

Tess followed him at a run. All the reporters and newspeople were converging on a podium that had been set up in front of the station. Chan managed to snake his way through to the middle of the crowd and he let Tess sneak into an empty pocket that had formed in front of him. Rusty Bosworth stepped up to the podium. Though she craned her neck, Tess could not see who else was behind him.

The redheaded police chief tapped on the microphone, sending a whoosh of noise through the clear, cold mountain air.

"All right, can I have your attention," he said. "Now I know," Chief Bosworth said, "that the rumors have been flying. So I want to just straighten out a few things. It's true that we do have a person of interest in the murder of Phoebe DeGraff and we have been questioning him. But his attorney has raised a number of issues and, as of this moment, our suspect is not under arrest. Until we make an arrest, we'll be releasing no other names or details at this time..."

A general murmur of disappointment and frustration traveled through the press corps as reporters realized that their lead story was still as lacking in substance as a soap bubble.

"As soon as we have more information, we will let you know..." Rusty Bosworth said grimly.

The crowd of technicians began to pack up their gear when suddenly a loud voice began to shout from the back of the crowd, "Bulls.h.i.+t! This is bulls.h.i.+t!"

Tess turned around, along with everyone else, and saw her brother, Jake, his golden brown hair disheveled, his collar turned up against the cold, his rugged face distorted by anger. The chief, who was surrounded by officers and making his way back into the station, pretended not to hear him, but Jake would not be denied.

"This is pure bulls.h.i.+t, Bosworth. Nelson Abbott's DNA matches the killer's and you know it," Jake shouted. "How come you haven't arrested him?"

"What?" Chan Morris cried. "What is your brother talking about?"

How does he know that? Tess wondered. And then she remembered. Julie had been there when Chief Fuller's call came. She had rushed off to tell Jake.

"He did it," Jake was screaming. "You've got the DNA results to prove it and you're still asking quesions? What is there to ask? He's gotten away with my sister's murder all these years and now you're lettin' him go? Doesn't this b.a.s.t.a.r.d have to pay for what he did?"

People around Jake were trying to calm him down, but Jake was in no mood to be placated. He shoved away their well-meaning rea.s.surances. "What about it, Bosworth?" Jake cried. "Is this how you treat a pedophile and a killer? I guess it's okay to let him go if he's your uncle."

Rusty Bosworth glared into the crowd. "I'll let the suspect's attorney answer that." Rusty turned around and looked behind him. "Mr. Ramsey?"

Tess felt as if she had been punched in the sternum. "Ben Ramsey?"

Ben Ramsey stepped up to the podium. The sun gleamed on his silver hair. He leaned down to the microphone. "As of right now, my client is not charged with anything, and I want to advise the members of the press not to broadcast or print any statements that can be construed as slander or libel. You're forewarned." Ben Ramsey stepped back and Rusty Bosworth took the microphone.

"Okay, show's over," snapped the police chief. He whispered to a couple of officers who waded out into the crowd and surrounded Jake, urging him to move along. "Just for the record, I didn't say we were letting our suspect go. We are still questioning him. When we have something to tell you, we'll tell you," Bosworth said. Beside him, Ben Ramsey's face was impa.s.sive as his eyes scanned the crowd. When Tess met his gaze, her eyes blazing with hurt and anger, she thought she saw him flinch.

You traitor, Tess thought. How could you?

Protesting loudly, Jake was hustled by a wave of blue uniforms out past the edge of the crowd. Tess turned and started to follow them.

Chan caught Tess by the sleeve. "Wait a minute. What is your brother talking about? What does he know about those DNA results?"

Tess raised her hands as if to ward off his questions. "I can't tell you anything," she said. "Really. I don't know anything about it. I have to go."

Chan brushed aside her protests of ignorance. "So the cops are saying that Nelson Abbott's DNA matched the results from...the old evidence."

Tess shook her head. "I told you, I don't know."

Chan shook his head. "I don't get it."

"What don't you get?" Tess demanded impatiently. "If he's the one who raped and killed my sister, then naturally his results would match the DNA on the evidence."

Chan put a hand to his forehead, as if the effort of thinking were painful. "But he always said that Lazarus was guilty. He told anybody who would listen..."

"Apparently, it was a lot easier for Nelson to let Lazarus be put to death than to face his own execution."

Chan peered at her. "It was you who said that Lazarus took your sister. How could you have made a mistake like that? Those two don't look at all alike."

"I didn't make a mistake," she said angrily. "Don't you see? They did it together."

Chan looked startled. "Together?"

Instantly Tess realized that she had said too much. The publisher was staring at her as if she had suddenly started speaking Mandarin. "I don't know. I don't know any more than you do," she insisted as she turned away from him. But she could see from the triumphant look dawning on his face that her protestations were too feeble, and too late.

CHAPTER 19.

From all her mother's years in residence at the Stone Hill Inn, Tess knew that there was a path that could be entered on foot half a mile down the road and led in a meandering route to the back door of the inn. She also knew that the reporters, frustrated by their lack of a story and t.i.tillated by Jake's outburst, would soon be congregating again in front of the inn. She decided to take the path.

She came out of the field at the back door, went in through the mudroom, and walked into the kitchen. A shrieking whistle filled the room and a gaunt-faced man in a gray parka was standing by the sink. He turned on her as she entered the room.

Tess cried out. It was the man whom she had seen in the field, looking in at her that first morning. The cigarette smoker, from the car, last night.

He raised his pale fingers. "Whoa, Tess," he said. "Take it easy."

"Who the h.e.l.l are you?" she demanded. "What are you doing here?"

Dawn came into the kitchen from the laundry room carrying a pile of dish towels. "Tess, what's wrong? Didn't you hear the kettle?"

Tess could see instantly that her mother was not surprised to find the man in the kitchen. "Who is this, Mother?" she demanded. "What's he doing here?"

Dawn looked embarra.s.sed by her daughter's reaction. "Don't you remember Mr. Phalen? Kenneth Phalen?"

Tess stared at the man's sunken eyes, his short, salt-and-pepper hair, and gray face that matched the color of his parka. She thought of the picture in the paper, the one on which she had drawn the gla.s.ses. Kenneth Phalen.

"Mr. Phalen?"

"Call me Ken," he said with half a smile. "We're all grown-ups now."

Tess looked at him warily. "I've seen you. Hanging around here," she said.

Dawn set the towels down and turned off the flame under the kettle. "We're just about to have a cup of tea. Do you want to join us?" Dawn was pouring the boiling water into a pair of mugs on the counter.

Tess shook her head.

Ken took off his coat and draped it carefully on the back of a counter stool. Dawn pointed to the breakfast nook. "Sit down, Ken," she said.

Kenneth edged past Tess and onto one of the benches in the nook. "'Scuse me," he said. Dawn came over and set down the mugs. She slid into the bench on the other side of the table, sliding toward the window so that there was room on her bench. "Sit down, Tess," said Dawn. "Tell me what happened."

Tess looked at her blankly.

"With Nelson," her mother reminded her.

"Nothing happened," said Tess. She did not sit. "There's nothing new. The police are questioning...their suspect. Jake came and...got a little out of control."

Dawn shook her head. "Oh no."

"You can't blame the boy," said Ken Phalen.

Tess looked at Ken in surprise. "Boy?" she said.

"I guess that's how I remember your brother," said Ken.

Tess peered at Phalen. "You never answered my question. Why are you here?"

"Tess," Dawn reproved her.

Ken stirred the coffee in his mug and then set down the spoon on a napkin. "Well, I ran into your mother last night at the Friends meeting..."

"Although I have to admit I didn't recognize him," said Dawn.

"I haven't weathered too well," said Ken.

The Compa.s.sionate Friends. Of course, Tess thought. She felt a moment of guilt as she realized that Ken and her mother did have that unbearable loss in common. But the guilt quickly pa.s.sed. "I meant, why are you here in town?" she demanded. "It seems kind of a coincidence..." she said. "Now, when all this is coming out about Phoebe's murder."

Ken shook his head. "It's no coincidence. I was having lunch with one of the editors I work for. He tries to throw as much work my way as he can. We were tossing around ideas and he mentioned this case-the DNA and death penalty thing. I told him about my personal involvement and he got very excited. He thought I should come up and try to get an article out of it."

"Mr. Phalen's a writer," said Dawn.

"I never did finish that novel I was working on when I met you," Ken demurred. "But I do a lot of magazine work. My editor thought I might have an interesting angle on the whole thing. After all, we were here when Phoebe...when the crime happened. Your family stayed here during the trial."