Chapter 19

Later Saturday afternoon, Melender sipped the large coffee Brogan had thoughtfully brought for her, willing the caffeine to work its magic and revive her sluggish brain. He settled into the chair opposite as she stifled an unwelcomed yawn.

“This is everything from the FBI and Fairfax County Police.” Brogan flipped the lid off one of the boxes. “While you were sleeping, I organized them into folders under each person’s name to make it easier for us to go over.”

“Wow, you must have been up here for hours.” She peeked into the open box stacked with labeled file folders.

“I did have a little help from my aunt and uncle.”

“I’ll have to thank them.” Her heart clenched at the reminder of how sweet the support of family could be—and what her own family refused to offer. The laughter, inside jokes, and affection between the Trents and Brogan during last night’s dinner had only increased the ache in her own heart for what she had missed. “Will they be back soon?”

Brogan shook his head. “They have tickets to a concert at Wolf Trap and took a picnic to enjoy the grounds ahead of time.”

“That sounds lovely.” She’d been wanting to attend a concert at the popular local indoor/outdoor theater, but her work schedule didn’t afford many free nights, nor did her bank account allow for the price of a ticket.

He tapped the box, redirecting her attention. “Apparently, there was a bit of a tiff between the Fairfax County Police Department and the FBI around the time of Jesse’s disappearance, so the county only shared the bare minimum with the feds on the case.”

“The FBI files were incomplete?” That didn’t sound right.

“The agency only had summaries of the county’s interviews, so I don’t know if any agent asked the police for more or not.”

“Doesn’t that seem strange to you?” Melender set her coffee down, then reached in and plucked a thick folder from the stack.

Brogan shrugged. “I don’t think we should read too much into it. The FBI focused on the kidnapping aspect, but once you were arrested, their investigation didn’t continue with as much force.”

“I guess when you have a suspect in custody, there’s not much incentive to look for additional suspects.” Melender eyed the label on the folder. Jared Thompson. Inside, the heading on the first piece of paper read: Fairfax County Police Interview with Jared Thompson. Her hand shook, but she steadied her grip. After all this time, she would finally discover what her cousin had to say about the night of Jesse’s disappearance. His testimony at her trial hadn’t tallied with what she’d remembered from that night.

Brogan slid a yellow legal pad and pen across the table to her. “Jot down anything that doesn’t jibe with what you remember about the event and the days that followed. I’ll write down notes that don’t seem to match up with the trial transcript.”

She picked up the interview transcript and read.

Jared Quentin Thompson, age 19, attends Northern Virginia Community College

Resident address: 23014 Crescent Moon Drive, McLean, Virginia

Mother: Sandra Evans Thompson of San Jose, California

Father: Quentin L. Thompson of McLean, Virginia

Siblings: half-sister Jillian, half-brother Jesse

Location: Fairfax County Police Station in McLean, Virginia

Present: Detective Mark Livingston, Detective Richard Delaney

Livingston:Walk us through last night.

Jared:You want me to start when Jesse went missing?

Delaney:You know when that was?”

Jared: Nah, man.

Delaney:Where were you last night?

Jared:At home.

Livingston: All night?

Jared: Define night.

Livingston: Your stepmother states that you came home around 1 a.m.

Jared: Yeah, I meant, I wasn’t in the house when he went missing.

Livingston: How do you know you weren’t in the house when he went missing?

Jared: Ah, man, don’t try to trip me up. You know who my father is?

Delaney: Of course we do. But you want to help us find your little brother, don’t you?

Jared: Half-brother.

Livingston: What did you think of him?

Jared: He was okay, cried a lot when he was born, but he didn’t do much. Just crawled around and whined. Only time Jesse and Jillian were quiet was when Mel sang.

Delaney: Melender Harman, your cousin?

Jared: I guess.

Delaney:Did she sing to your younger siblings a lot?

Jared:All the time. There’s something about her voice.

Delaney: What do you mean?

Jared:I tried to get her to sing for a buddy of mine who knows some people in the music industry, you know, but she said her voice wasn’t for sale. Crazy. I brought him over one time, and we hid behind the pool shed when we saw her go into the wooded area in the back of the lot. She used to climb this oak tree and sing when she thought no one was around. When my buddy heard her sing, he wanted to come back and record it. But then Jesse went missing, and that ended that.

Livingston:Where did you go that evening?

Melender played with the tail of her braid when she finished reading the rest of Jared’s police interview. Not once did her cousin mention that Ruby and Quentin left him in charge of his half-siblings the night Jesse went missing. Melender had been at a graduation party hosted by one of her classmates, who happened to live a few streets over from the Thompsons. Funny how Melender had never considered her aunt and uncle’s home her own. In her mind, it was always “the Thompson house.” Her home was a little log cabin tucked into a hollow with a breathtaking view of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

A longing to return to her roots, to forget about clearing her name and allow the mountains work their restorative magic on her battered soul welled up so strongly, tears sprang to her eyes. Melender allowed herself to picture the kitchen and living area, the small bedroom, and—her grandmother’s pride and joy—a tiny bathroom with a clawfoot tub, sink, and toilet. While power lines to the cabin’s remote location was impossible, Sudie loved having running water, albeit only cold water.

“Melender?”

Brogan’s voice jolted her back to the present. Swiping away the wetness from her cheeks, she met Brogan’s gaze.

“Are you okay?” He reached across the table and grasped her hand in his.

The warmth of his touch sent a shudder through her body, like water pushing against a weak spot on a dam.

“What’s wrong?” His soft-spoken question, accompanied by the tender movement of his thumb across the top of her hand, pushed the water over the dam in a whoosh of emotions.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. Withdrawing her hand from his, she bowed her head and wrapped her arms around her middle, but the pent-up emotions wouldn’t be contained. Sobs shook her frame. She cried all the tears she couldn’t shed in prison. Her crying yesterday with Mrs. Trent had loosened something inside her. The grief over what happened to Jesse and the loss of being totally alone in the world broke her down.

“Shh. It’ll be okay.” Brogan gently tugged her up and into a strong embrace.

Melender encircled his waist for support. Brogan stroked her hair and murmured comforting words she didn’t quite catch. For once, she didn’t try to reign in the floodgates of tears but let them fall, soaking his t-shirt. She didn’t know how long they stood like that, but when the tears slowed, she raised her head.

He smoothed back a strand of hair from her wet face. “Better?”

She seriously considered the question, then decided her crying jag had released some of the tension and grief bottled up inside her. “Yes.”

Brogan smiled, his eyes holding a tenderness that sent a different sort of tingle throughout her body. “You must have carried that weight around for a long time.”

That was the understatement of the year. Now that the tears had been spent, she became more aware of how tightly he held her, how snugly she fit into his embrace. Embarrassment crept over her like a vine. She stepped away only to find her back against the wall. “I’m, um, sorry about getting your shirt all wet.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

His nearness, coupled with the intensity of his gaze, heightened her senses. Drawing in a ragged breath, the scent of cedar mixed with what she was beginning to associate with Brogan. A desire to place her hand along his jawline to see if the five-o’clock shadow felt as scratchy as it looked zoomed through her. This was madness. She needed to remove herself from his vicinity pronto before she did something truly stupid, like throw herself back into his arms. He was only being kind, much like a person would comfort a small, wounded animal. Brogan had made it clear he was keeping an open mind about her guilt and that he was only in it for the story.

She slipped out of the door and into the hall bathroom a few steps away. After using the facilities, she washed up, blew her nose, then examined her face in the mirror. The tears had turned her nose red and made her eyes a little puffy, but a few splashes of cold water helped to sooth both her face and her tattered emotions. In her heightened emotional state, she clearly had misread his kindness for something more. Dear God, please help me to focus on the task at hand. Help us to find out the truth.

* * *

Brogan pressedthe heels of his hands to his eyes. Had he really been thinking of kissing Melender? Seeing her cry had touched something deep inside him. He remembered how alone he’d felt after his disgrace, how his former friends wouldn’t return his calls, and how his own family expressed their disapproval by withholding contact for a time. Those memories had driven him to rise and pull her into his arms. No one should cry alone. But his comfort had turned to something else.

As he’d stroked Melender’s hair, the silkiness of her braid redirected his thoughts to how long her hair might be when undone. He’d itched to slip the tie off and run his fingers through the silvery-blonde strands. When she pulled back and gazed at him, the lingering sadness in her dark blue eyes heightened the impulse to kiss away her pain.

Thank goodness she’d slipped away before he could act on that impulse. He needed to get hold of himself. He wasn’t involved with Melender to romance her but to find out if the real murderer of Jesse Thompson was still out there.

The best remedy for wayward thoughts was work, so he resettled in his chair and picked up the folder labeled Ruby Harman. He selected the initial interview with Fairfax County Police mere hours after she and her husband had reported Jesse missing.

Ruby Harman Thompson, age 46, no profession

Resident address: 23014 Crescent Moon Drive, McLean, Virginia

Spouse: Quentin L. Thompson of McLean, Virginia

Children: Jesse, Jillian, stepson Jared

Location: Fairfax County Police Station in McLean, Virginia.

Present:Detective Mark Livingston, Detective Richard Delaney

Livingston: Mrs. Harman, where were you the night that Jesse disappeared?

Ruby Harman Thompson:We were at the McLean Country Club’s annual charity fundraiser.

Delaney: With your husband?

Ms. Thompson: Yes. We’d left Jesse and Jillian with Melender, like we’d done dozens of times before.

Livingston: When did you get home that night?

Ms. Thompson: After midnight. I was so tired, I didn’t check on Jesse or Jillian, but went straight to bed.

Livingston: When did you realize Jesse was missing?

Ms. Thompson: I didn’t know anything had happened until the morning when Isadora screamed. That’s when we all realized Jesse wasn’t in his crib.

Delaney: Isadora Alonso is the children’s nanny?

Ms. Thompson: Yes.

Delaney: How long had Ms. Alonso been with you?

Ms. Thompson: Since Jillian’s birth nearly four years earlier.

Delany: Why didn’t Ms. Alonso watch the children during the party?

Ms. Thompson: It was her night off.

Brogan skimmed the rest of the interview but gleaned nothing else interesting. Instead of continuing with Ruby’s FBI interviews, he rummaged in the box to grab the nanny’s folder. The same two detectives had interviewed Isadora. He skimmed past the preliminaries, stopping to read more slowly when the questions centered on the evening of the disappearance.

Livingston:Where did you go on your night off?

Ms. Alonso:Night off? I didn’t have a night off.

Delaney: You weren’t watching the children the night Jesse disappeared. Mrs. Thompson said it was your usual night off.

Ms. Alonso:That’s what she called it? Sure, I was not watching the children, but I was working just the same.

Livingston:Working where?

Ms. Alonso: At the McLean Country Club.

Livingston:Did you work there often?

Ms. Alonso:I didn’t work at the club. I worked for Mrs. Thompson, and she needed me at the club to help with the fundraiser.

Delaney:Why was that?

Ms. Alonso:Someone with the catering company called in sick. Mrs. Thompson insisted that I go to the club to help. She promised to pay me extra.

Delaney: You worked at the gala that Mr. and Mrs. Thompson went to that night?

Ms. Alonso:Yes.

Livingston: What exactly did you do that night?

Ms. Alonso: I picked up dirty plates and cups, napkins. People leave them all over the ballroom, hallways, porches, and gardens.

Livingston: So you were in and out of the ballroom all evening?

Ms. Alonso: Yes.

Livingston: Did you see either one of them leave the premises at all during the evening?

Ms. Alonso:Mrs. Thompson danced and danced. She was quite popular with the gentlemen because she was such a lovely dancer. Mr. Thompson spent most of his time talking. He did get a phone call, go outside, then come back, maybe an hour later. I don’t know where he went. The weather was very nice for June, so many people went outside to enjoy the gardens at the club.

Brogan tapped the table, then opened up Google Maps on his phone to discover the distance between the country club and the Thompson home.

“Want a snack?” Melender slid a plate with apple slices and a small dish of hummus on the table before settling back in her chair.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had apple slices dipped in hummus.”

“I worked in the kitchen for a time, and the cook introduced me to this treat.”

Brogan reached for an apple slice, dipped it in the hummus, then popped it in his mouth. As he munched, he traced the route from Crescent Moon Drive to the country club. Google Maps indicated the trip would take 10 minutes by car.

“Find something interesting?”

“I’m not sure.” He ate another slice. “According to the nanny’s interview, your uncle left the gala for around an hour. She thinks he was talking on the phone outside in the gardens.”

“The club is close to the Thompson home.” Melender blotted her lips on a napkin. “Quentin could have left the club and driven home.”

“Did your attorney look into Quentin’s business and finances? He obviously had enough to pay the kidnappers a million dollars in cash.” He sipped his iced tea.

“I don’t think my attorney did much of anything.”

“That was Dan Stabe, right?”

She nodded. “Sometimes, I wish I had used some of Sudie’s insurance money to pay for a lawyer other than a public defender, but by the time I realized Stabe wasn’t mounting much of a defense, the trial was over.”

“Most defense attorneys work with private investigators to dig into the background of the witnesses, key players, and so on. Did Stabe?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, drawing Brogan’s attention back to how her hair had felt so soft, like a fine silk scarf. “Do you think that’s significant?”

Yanking his thoughts back to the matter at hand, he made a note to follow up about the PI question. “Probably not, but it’s something to ask Stabe. Have you had any contact with him since your release?”

“No. He stopped accepting my calls and letters years ago.” She polished off the last apple slice. “Right around the time he joined the firm of Davis, Ramsey, and Stevens.” Her eyes met Brogan’s. “That’s the firm—”

“—that represents Thompson Energy.”