Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

It wasn't long after that Jenny's mother arrived, and Martinez and I left them to find comfort in each other. We got back into Martinez's SUV, both of us soaked to the skin, and his phone gave a shrill ring.

It was connected to Bluetooth and the call came out over the speakers. "Martinez," he said.

"You were right about the medic call," Plank said. "Kitty Lidle was found unresponsive this morning by the house manager, an Astrid Nielsen. She'd already called 911 by the time your call came through."

"Is she still alive?"

"Barely," Plank said. "The EMTs weren't sure what happened to her, but her BP and pulse were dangerously low, and she's not responsive. They're taking her to King George Memorial."

"Anyone else in the household harmed?" Martinez asked.

"Not that we're aware," he said. "I've cordoned it off as a crime scene for now. The house manager and chef were both on the premises this morning. I'm not sure about other staff."

"We're on the way there," Martinez said. "Should take us about fifteen minutes. Don't let anyone in. That house is the last place Evie Lidle was seen alive."

Martinez disconnected and then flipped on his sirens before doing a 180 in the middle of the road and heading back toward Bloody Mary. The senior Lidles technically lived in Bloody Mary, but if their house had been built on the opposite side of the street they would have been in another county entirely.

Caledon Road wasn't far from the house where Jack and I lived. It was a curvy road and snaked an outline next to Caledon State Park. It was one of the most beautiful areas in the entire state and it was all framed by the majesty of the Potomac River. It was easy to see why the homes were large and far and few between.

We'd had a murder off Caledon Road not too long ago, and it was hard not to think about all the things that could have gone wrong during that op. Jack and I both could've been killed, and it had been a closer call than I was comfortable with.

"I hate having to come out here," Martinez said, echoing my thoughts.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm starting to think leaving my weapon at home was a bad idea. Who knew the most expensive area in the entire county would become the most dangerous?"

We arrived at the Lidles' property in ten minutes instead of fifteen, but it took us another five to drive past the white rail fence and the acres of rolling hills. I assumed the Arabians the Lidles bred and raised were all in the barn since the rain hadn't let up.

"I hope they get paid well," I said, pointing to the cameramen and reporters that were set up under a tent across the street.

"Bottom feeders," Martinez scoffed. "They would have heard the call go out from dispatch after the 911 call. The Lidles are always news." He got on the radio and said to dispatch, "Could you get Fish and Wildlife on the phone and let them know the media has taken up residence on federal land?"

I shook my head, but couldn't help but smile. There were times to work with the media. But other times they got in the way more than they helped.

The estate was gated, and Martinez pulled in, prepared to show his badge to the guard in the gatehouse.

A man standing in the gatehouse held up his hand for us to stop. He was dressed in jeans and a black anorak with a hood. It was covered in droplets of water.

"Cop?" I asked.

"Not that I know," Martinez said, rolling down his window. He held up his badge and the man looked closer, studying it intently.

"They're expecting you inside," he said, and then the gate opened.

Martinez smiled. "Who are you?"

"Alan Goble," he said. "I'm head of the security for the Lidles."

Alan Goble stood just under six feet and held himself like a fighter. His shoulders and arms were well defined in his T-shirt, and a tattoo wound intricately up his left forearm and under his sleeve.

His face was chiseled in an interesting way, and his nose had been broken at some point. His hair was almost black and his eyes a shade lighter. I recognized eyes like his. They were eyes that had seen some things over the course of his life. I was pegging him as either ex-military or cop, but I wasn't sure which.

"Who was on shift last night?" Martinez asked.

"I have a round-the-clock team, six men on every shift. I can get you a list of who was on duty. You'll see guards at all the perimeter gates and two who ride in black vehicles covering the property grounds. They change position every two hours."

He looked past Martinez to me, sizing me up with a quick look. I arched a brow back at him.

"You're not a cop," he said.

"Coroner," I replied.

He nodded. "I heard about Evie on the news. Poor kid. I've already gotten a call from Mr. Lidle. My head is probably going to be on a platter in the next few hours."

"We're going to need to talk to you," Martinez said. "We'll come back out and do a full interview and get the list of your team that was on duty once we have a full picture inside."

"I'll be here," he said, closing the door to the guardhouse.

"Impression?" Martinez asked as he drove through the impressive wrought-iron gate.

"Seemed more worried about his job than the brutal murder of a kid. I didn't like the way he looked me over. Reminded me of a blind date I went on once. Like he was sizing me up to see if I was acceptable."

"He was checking you out," Martinez said. "Saw your wedding ring and didn't bother with the rest of the scan. I recognize the signs."

I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat. I knew there was a reason I didn't miss the dating scene.

It was another five-minute drive up the winding, tree-lined driveway to the front of the estate.

"Amazing what a little ketchup can get a person in this country," I said, looking at the monstrosity in front of me with awe.

Jack came from wealth, so I was used to some of the privileges it brought. But Jack had also come from a family who had worked for their money, and he was no stranger to physical labor. But this kind of wealth was off the charts. Everett Lidle's parents were in the exclusive billionaire club. Despite having homes all over the world, they'd decided to make their permanent residence here.

The Lidles weren't from King George County. I didn't even know how they ended up here. But I remember the complaints from when I was a kid when they'd built this monstrosity of a house. They'd bought up two farms that were struggling and had paid more than double than what they were worth at the time. And then they'd eventually appeased the community by saying there were keeping the land intact through their Arabian enterprise.

Though to give credit where credit was due, they'd stayed true to their word. They'd kept the land and not sold it off for millions of dollars, which was what it was worth now. And their horses frequently placed or won in the derby.

The mansion was built at a right angle, modern and impressive and white, with balconies on all three levels that overlooked a massive swimming pool and entertainment area. I doubted the Lidles made it down to the stables on a day-to-day basis, if ever, and the stables and any hint of animals were almost a mile down the road, along with several smaller cottages where I assumed staff lived.

"Nice place," Martinez said.

"Hey, I'm sure you're used to this stuff as the president of Toro," I said, waggling my brows. "You ever hobnob with the Lidles?"

Martinez snorted. "Are you kidding? That's a club that only cokeheads and terrorists can get into. They've got money. I just have regular money."

"Yeah, I figured as much," I said. "I saw a thing on TMZ a few years ago about Everett's brother, Phin, and how he was dating a hotel heiress and a member of the royal family at the same time. The three of them got caught in a ménage à trois and there were all kinds of drugs and hidden cameras in this seedy motel room. But they were in the UK when it happened so the royal family tried to bury it so it didn't embarrass the family. Phin's wife took him to the cleaners in his divorce."

"Look at you keeping up with the gossip news," Martinez said.

"TMZ was always playing at the hospital when I worked the night shift," I said. "It was hard not to see it."

There was a covered drive that looked like someone had stacked giant white tables on one another and Martinez parked beneath it, leaving room for others to get around him if needed.

Martinez's phone rang just as we were about to exit and he answered it from the screen. "Detective Martinez," he said.

"Detective Martinez," an unfamiliar voice said. "This is Robert Lidle. I believe you just arrived at my home." His voice was gruff and no nonsense.

Martinez's brows rose in surprise. I knew cops' cell phones were protected, so it wasn't just anyone who had access other than dispatch or personal acquaintances.

"How can I help you, Mr. Lidle?" Martinez asked.

"I'm sure it's difficult for a man in your position to understand, but my family is under attack and the media is in a frenzy." There was a slight pause as he cleared his throat. "I know you all have a job to do, but with a family like ours, sometimes these matters must be dealt with more delicately and out of the public eye. We're under a great deal of scrutiny all of the time, and situations like this only add fuel to the fire of competitors in the business or even those who'd like to see projects I'm working to get through Congress to fail."

"You mean situations like your granddaughter being murdered and your wife being taken away by ambulance?" Martinez asked.

"I want justice for my granddaughter," he said. "I can only imagine how her poor mother and my son are coping right now. And the King George Sheriff's Office has my full support. As I'm sure you know, the Lidle family donates a healthy amount each year at the first responders' ball and also to your sheriff during election season so you can all have those nice new vehicles and top-notch equipment."

"And we appreciate your support," Martinez cut in smoothly.

"But I believe the best thing for our family would be for you to wrap up your investigation quickly. The longer this drags out, the harder it is on everyone. And my responsibility as the head of this family is to make sure that we can grieve in peace, without people poking into our lives."

Martinez's fingers tapped against the steering wheel and his gaze was thoughtful. "Mr. Lidle," he said. "We're going to do everything in our power to make sure that your granddaughter's killer is brought to justice quickly."

"Good, good," he said. "I'm glad we understand each other." And then he disconnected the call.

I pursed my lips and then said, "Maybe I got the wrong impression."

"No, I don't think you did," he said.

"But it sounded to me like Robert Lidle wanted you to not dig into his family too deeply under threat of him pulling their financial resources."

Martinez sighed. "Yeah, that's pretty much my take too. He's going to be real pissed when I schedule an interview with him."

"I'm guessing our friend Alan Goble gave him a quick call as soon as he shut the door in our face."

"I guess he's trying to keep his head off that silver platter."

I grabbed my medical bag out of habit and pushed open the door and the wind caught it so it almost slammed closed on me. Even under the cover we could feel the spray of rain from the wind.

The front door was enormous, made of black metal and glass, and Plank pushed it in the center so it swiveled and opened a space almost as large as an entire wall.

"That's quite a door," Martinez said.

"Seems a little unnecessary," I said as we walked inside.

"Maybe they need to let a lot of people in at one time," Martinez said. "Like an army."

"Or they need a new way to work on their upper body strength," Plank said. "That door is heavy."

"Did you just make a joke, Plank?" Martinez asked.

"It won't happen again, sir."

The response was so deadpan I couldn't help but laugh. Plank was coming along. Another decade on the job and he'd be as smartass and cynical as the rest of the cops on the force.

The entire house seemed to be made of windows and black metal. The walls that were solid were white and covered with expensive art. I was afraid to touch anything. It looked like a museum. A cold, sterile museum with art that looked like it had been created by toddlers.

"The house manager and chef are in the kitchen," Plank said. "No one else has attempted to contact us through the gate, and I've seen no other staff."

"Where was Kitty Lidle found?" Martinez asked.

"Third floor," Plank said, heading up the black metal stairs.

We followed him. There was a clear glass railing, but otherwise the stairs were open to the floors above and below.

"Well, these are terrifying," I said, trying to keep my eyes from crossing so I could keep my footing.

"Just don't look down," Martinez said.

"Very helpful," I said.

"Surely there's an elevator in a place this size," Martinez said.

"Oh, there is," Plank said. "You can see the layout of the house better this way. And it's good exercise."

"I appreciate you looking out for us, Plank," I said dryly, but it didn't faze him.

"Mrs. Lidle was found in one of the kids' rooms," Plank said. "Once the EMTs cleared her out I sealed it off."

When we got to the third floor we walked down a wide hallway to the north wing of the house.

"I don't know a lot about kids," Martinez said. "But this doesn't really seem like a kid-friendly environment."

The house was such a stark contrast to Everett and Jenny's home it was hard to imagine the two families even being related.

There were still expensive paintings on the walls and sculptures posed in front of the expanse of windows that showcased the rolling pastures, but when Plank led us into the first bedroom on the left I thought that maybe visiting Grandma and Grandpa wouldn't be so bad after all.

The room was a little girl's dream. It was pink, with ruffles and lace and innocence, and it was more than three times the size of the bedroom I shared with Jack. There were six beds, all with pink-and-white canopies, and there was a life-sized dollhouse with a full designer kitchen. There was a wall-sized screen and gaming consoles, and a simulation golf game. The balcony was expansive and looked out over the rolling green hills and white stables.

"Wow," I said. "Every kid's dream."

"There's an identical one on the opposite side of the hall for the boys," Plank said. "It has a simulation batting cage. Apparently this entire wing is for the grandkids. The room next door is an arcade, and there's an indoor pool at the end of the hall with a splash pad."

"I guess there comes a point when you have so much money you run out of things to spend it on," I said.

"Whoever thought of putting a swimming pool on the third floor?" Martinez asked.

"I think they thought of everything when they built this place," Plank said. "Mrs. Lidle was found here." He pointed to a bed in the middle of a row of three along the back wall.

I immediately pulled a pair of gloves out of my bag and handed Martinez an extra pair.

"Two disturbed beds," Martinez said, pointing to the adjacent bed.

"Makes sense," I said. "If she was taking care of the granddaughter she'd stay up here with her. Though I'm surprised. You'd think she'd hire a nurse or send someone else to take care of her."

"Jenny said Kitty was a very sweet woman, at least when it came to family," Martinez said. "Maybe she's hands on."

"Yeah, maybe," I said. "No sign of the chicken noodle soup bowl, but there's a tea set. Two cups. One is empty. The other still has tea in it. Looks full."

"The trace of the drug you found in Evie's system…" Martinez began. "Could a larger dose have been given to incapacitate either or both of them?"

I frowned in thought. It seemed too simple. "One of the side effects of promethazine is respiratory depression. But I've only ever read studies about it affecting those under two years of age. I've never heard of an adult case."

"But an overdose could cause respiratory issues in an adult?" he pressed.

"Yeah, it's possible," I said. "If the dose was large enough. Side effects include lethargy and sleepiness. The problem with Evie Lidle's tox report is that there were just trace amounts in her system. It wasn't enough to make me think it did anything but curb her nausea. It's a very effective and fast-acting drug."

"Let's bag and tag the tea set," Martinez said to Plank. "Keep your eyes open for the prescription bottle, or any other prescriptions you find. Evie Lidle was somehow taken out of this house, and something happened to Kitty Lidle that kept her from noticing her granddaughter was being taken right from beneath her nose. I refuse to believe she just happened to have a stroke or whatever. There are no coincidences in murder."

"There's no sign of struggle in this room," I said, looking around closely, examining the windows and looking for something a kidnapper might have left behind. "The play areas look normal for a single kid who was bored with being stuck in bed. There's a few books on the floor. Playhouse is disheveled. And a couple of golf clubs are lying on the bed instead of in the bag."

"What about drugs that wouldn't have shown up in a regular tox screen?" Martinez asked.

"Any number of prescription drugs or illegal drugs wouldn't show up," I told him. "The tox screen looks for markers—codeine, barbiturates, heroin, amphetamines, morphine. There are a lot of drugs and poisons that don't have those chemicals. Something like chloroform would have shown up in her liver when I did the autopsy, so that's also ruled out."

"We know the girl fought back," he said. "I'm just trying to narrow down the timeline a little. Let's just say for conversation that the drug was in the tea. We've got TOD taking place sometime between nine and midnight. The killer got her out of the house somehow. The park is maybe a twenty-minute drive from here. And we know she was awake enough to fight back."

"And not just fight back a little," I told him. "The defensive wounds on her arms and the flesh under her nails does not tell the story of a girl drugged out of her mind. She was alert."

"So maybe she wasn't drugged at all," he said.

"You think she went willingly?" I asked.

"Whether she went willingly or was carried out in a potato sack, I don't know. But I don't believe for a second that a place like this doesn't have eyes and ears everywhere."

I agreed with that. "Send the tea set to the state lab and have them look for trace evidence. Once you start getting into poisons, the tests become very specific. It can take some time."

"Right," Martinez said, blowing out a breath. "We'll hope it's not poison. Looks like we need to talk to the house manager and the chef since they showed up this morning.

"Plank, call Derby in IT. I want him to check all the security and logs for any entrance on the property, including down at the stables. I want to find how the killer got out of here with the girl.

"And then call in the crime-scene techs. I want Lieutenant Daniels to bring her team. She's the best. Then call in Chen and tell her to pick a team of four to bring with her. Tell them to drop whatever they're working on. This is priority. I want every inch of this house combed over, and every person who has stepped foot on Lidle property over the past seventy-two hours interviewed. I want to know how Evie Lidle left this house. This might be the only chance we have to get access to this place once Robert Lidle starts throwing his weight around. I want us to be thorough."

"Yes, sir," Plank said. "The house manager's name is Astrid Nielsen. She's the one who found Kitty Lidle. Said she was just fine when she brought the tea up last night. She's in the kitchen with Walters."

"Then let's start with her," Martinez said.

I wasn't sure what I'd been expecting Astrid Nielsen to look like. Maybe I'd expected her to be older and more shriveled, considering Jenny had said most of the staff were long-term employees, but she didn't look much past forty.

What I hadn't been expecting was her size. She was broad shouldered, built more like a rugby player, and athletic looking. Her skin was pale and smooth and her cornhusk-blond hair was long and braided over one shoulder. Her eyes were the pale blue of an Icelandic lake. She stood ramrod straight, holding a steaming cup of something between her hands, and looking like she didn't know quite what to do.

I looked around the massive kitchen. There were no touches of home here. No photographs or plants. It was a commercial kitchen with enough gadgets and ovens to cook for a hundred people, which I assumed happened frequently considering the Lidles' status.

Walters was standing guard in the corner, and there was a short, plump woman with steel-gray hair pulled into a severe knot at the base of her neck. She was pounding dough like there was a face attached to it, while intermittently throwing flour onto the counter and then starting the pounding again.

I raised my brows at Walters in question, but he subtly shook his head and the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Are you Astrid Nielsen?" Martinez asked the woman at the island.

"Yes," she said, meeting Martinez's gaze with tear-drenched eyes. "I am Astrid Nielsen." Her accent was Nordic, which would explain her height and coloring.

"We need to ask you a few questions," Martinez said. "I'd appreciate it if we could talk privately."

"You can go in the breakfast room," the short woman said, her accent a thick Irish lilt. "I'll not have me schedule interrupted. I've got dinner to prep for."

"You must be Molly Ryan," Martinez said.

"That I am," she said. "And no one is allowed in me kitchen unless ye want a knot on the head. If ye want coffee I'll bring it to ye in the other room. Mr. Lidle is not going to be happy you're poking about."

"Unfortunately, the law applies to Mr. Lidle like it does everyone else," Martinez said. "This is an active crime scene. I don't even need a warrant."

Astrid was dressed in black slacks and a formal black button-down long-sleeved shirt, but Molly was dressed more casually in linen slacks and a loose white shirt. A dark green apron hung around her neck and it was speckled with flour.

"Who are you making dinner for?" I asked out of curiosity.

"Mr. Lidle is expected home this evening," she said. "And he said there would be eight guests."

Martinez rocked back on his heels. "Should I assume that Mrs. Lidle wasn't invited since she's unconscious in the hospital?"

"Aye, she's fine," Molly said curtly. "I already told yer baby officer that's poking around the house. Mr. Lidle doesn't like the household to be interrupted, and we'll all catch hell for it. Ye'll see. Sometimes Ms. Kitty tipples the sherry. No need to make such a big fuss. Just like I told Astrid here." Molly slammed the dough down on the counter again and gave Astrid a scathing look. "Should have let her sleep it off instead of calling the police."

"She was barely breathing," Astrid said. "And Evie is gone!"

"Nonsense," Molly said. "Girl was right as rain last night. She's probably down at the stables with her horses. I'm sure she got caught in the rain and couldn't make it back to the house. But you'd have to use the brain in yer head to call down there and ask."

"Evie is dead!" Astrid yelled.

"You haven't watched the news? Gotten any phone calls?" I asked.

"I'm working," Molly said indignantly. "You don't watch the telly or answer the phone when you're working. At least some of us don't." She gave a pointed look to Astrid. "And I don't have one in my house."

"Mrs. Ryan," Martinez said. "Evie Lidle was found in Regent Park this morning. She was murdered."

"What are ye blathering about?" she asked, staring daggers at Martinez. "What kind of filth is this? I want ye out of this house." She flapped a cup towel at him and said, "Get! Shoo!"

"Did you try to tell her?" Martinez asked Astrid, not moving from his spot.

"She's not good at listening while she's yelling," Astrid said, her mouth pressing in a thin line. "I told her it was all over the news, but she doesn't watch television. She says it rots the brain. And the house was quiet this morning."

The color had leached out of Molly's face and she gripped her rolling pin like a weapon.

"Little Evie?" Molly asked. "It's not possible. I'm telling you she was right as rain when I saw her last night. I saw her."

"What time was that?" I asked.

"Around five o'clock," she said. "Ms. Kitty didn't need me to stay late. She said just leave the soup on the stove and they'd help themselves. But I brought the tray up to Evie anyway so Ms. Kitty didn't have to carry it. She was feeling poorly herself, so I thought it best they eat upstairs."

"Did you speak to Evie?" Martinez asked.

"Of course," Molly said. "She was feeling much better. Told me she didn't want the soup, and she wanted a hamburger instead. But I told her that was foolish and she'd cast it back up again. She was out of bed playing as if she'd never been sick."

"What about Kitty?" Martinez asked.

"She was the one who didn't look so good, and I told her so meself," Molly said. "She was afraid the whole staff would get sick, but I told her that was nonsense. I've never been sick a day in me life. But Ms. Kitty told me to have Astrid dismiss the others and send them on home. Ms. Kitty said the house was quarantined until Wednesday at the earliest. That's why no one came in today."

"Except for you and Ms. Nielsen?" Martinez asked.

"I have a job to do," she said haughtily. "A little illness isn't going to stop me. And I expect it's the same for Astrid and anyone else who has more than fluff in their head."

"How long has Mr. Lidle been gone?" I asked.

"He left Sunday just after Evie came to stay," Molly said, pursing her lips. "Said he had too many important meetings this week, and couldn't afford to be sick. Democracy hanging in the balance, or some such nonsense."

"He didn't seem concerned about Kitty being taken to the hospital when he called about the dinner party?" Martinez asked.

"He seemed put out about it, sure," Molly said. "But like I said before, this isn't the first time Kitty has taken to bed with a drink or two. I figured she made herself a hot toddy and overindulged. I'm sure Mr. Lidle thought the same. But he said this dinner was important and there would be dignitaries dining with him. He wanted escargots and beef Wellington on the menu. And a soufflé for dessert." She rolled her eyes. "Like ye can just whip one up easy as ye please."

Molly bit her lip nervously and her voice wavered. "Have you checked to see if Evie's hiding? She loves her games, does Evie. It might have scared her to see Kitty sick or tipsy. Not many people know about her drinking."

"I'm sorry," I said. "But we're sure. I was able to identify her from dental records. Her parents have been notified."

Molly's face drained of color and she dropped the rolling pin with a thunk onto the counter, her legs wobbling. Martinez took a step forward to try and steady her but she waved him off.

"I need to contact Mr. Lidle," she said. "He doesn't know about Evie. I'm sure of it. He would have said something. He wouldn't have been so insistent about the dinner party."

"We've already spoken to him," Martinez said. "He knows about his granddaughter."

Her mouth tightened in a thin line.

"Officer Walters is going to sit with you to make sure you're steady on your feet," Martinez said. "And then we'll come back and talk with you some more."

She bristled. "Of course I'm steady on me feet. I'm going to put on a pot of coffee. Ye can help yourselves to it if ye like."

"We appreciate it," Martinez said.

I didn't know about Martinez, but I wasn't about to drink anything from a house where we'd just taken cups into evidence.