Chapter 31

Livingston riffled through a box, reading file labels but not extracting any papers to peruse as Brogan set down two mugs of coffee on the table.

“Thanks. This is regular, right?” The detective didn’t wait for Brogan’s answer before lifting his mug and taking a sip.

“Yes, as strong as I could make it.” Brogan took a tentative sip of his own cup, and the hot liquid nearly scalded his mouth.

Livingston had arrived a few minutes after seven wearing Bermuda shorts, a faded Police Academy t-shirt, and sandals. The transformation from all-business cop to weekender jarred Brogan, but he wisely didn’t quip about the clothing option. The detective projected the appearance of someone off the clock, but his manner was serious.

“You’ve organized this nicely.” Livingston tapped one of the boxes. “How far have you and Harman gone through these?”

Brogan brought him up to speed on the slow progress they’d made. “We kind of got sidetracked with Jared’s arrest related to the ransom.”

“Yeah, that was a bit of a surprise, I’ll grant you. I knew something was off about Jared Thompson, but since the FBI handled the kidnapping part, I never got to question him beyond his initial statement.”

“We were hoping his confession would open up new avenues to explore in Jesse’s disappearance.”

“We?” Livingston raised his eyebrows. “Seems to me you’re losing your objectivity with this story.”

Brogan didn’t take the bait to discuss his involvement with Melender, not when he couldn’t be honest with himself about his feelings for her. Instead, he switched topics. “What I don’t understand is why everyone accepted the Thompsons’ version of events without question.”

“Early in the investigation, it looked like a case of a missing child. That’s treated very differently than if we thought it was a homicide case. So yes, we gave the family the velvet-glove treatment because we had no reason to suspect any of them of foul play in Jesse’s disappearance.”

“When did Melender’s name come up as a potential suspect?” Brogan flipped through the pages on his yellow pad to refresh his memory of the interviews he’d read.

Livingston sipped his coffee, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp. “When it became obvious the child had been taken, not wandered off.”

“How did you determine that?” Brogan strived to sound friendly, not antagonistic. The detective had volunteered his time to read the files, but that didn’t mean Livingston thought Melender innocent. Brogan pegged the man as someone who liked to have all his questions answered about a case, and this was one instance where loose ends had dangled for nearly two decades.

“The usual trio of means, motive, and opportunity. Given the testimony of the other household members, Harman appeared to be the only one with all three.”

“But you discounted the nanny’s testimony about Quentin leaving the charity function for an hour and you never fully interviewed Jared about his whereabouts that night.” Brogan tried to mask his frustration with how things had unfolded nineteen years ago.

Livingston didn’t change his posture, but a slight tightening of his lips indicated he wasn’t pleased with Brogan’s statement. “I’m surprised you haven’t figured that out yet. You were a big shot investigative reporter. Surely you’ve discovered life isn’t fair, especially to those who haven’t the ability to ensure an equal playing field.”

Brogan scrambled to interpret the words in light of Melender’s case. Then a snippet from an article about Quentin flashed in his mind. “Quentin played golf with the police chief.” He met the detective’s eyes. “But this wasn’t a traffic ticket. It’s a woman’s life. It’s a child’s life.”

“The results are the same. When your boss tells you to lay off questioning the immediate family, you push back as much as you can because you believe there is more to the story. Then comes the ransom note, and the FBI takes over the case. Finally, the prosecutor swoops in to say there’s enough circumstantial evidence to hold a grand jury, and voila. Indictment, trial, conviction, sentencing.”

The picture of how easily that had happened to Melender unfolded in Brogan’s mind like a silent movie.

“Unfortunately, this isn’t the only time where the wheels of justice crushed someone instead of serving the public.”

“What would you have done had you been fully free to do your job?”

Livingston blew out a breath. “I would have questioned the family members more thoroughly, followed up on the nanny’s testimony, looked into Jared’s background. In other words, I would have done some old-fashioned investigative work until I figured out what happened to Jesse Thompson.” The detective’s phone buzzed. Frowning, he picked it up and checked caller ID. “I better take this. It’s the forensics lab. Must be important for them to buzz me while I’m off the clock.”

Brogan rose and grabbed the empty coffee cups. “I’ll get us a refill.” He left the room to give Livingston privacy. After making two fresh cups, he returned to find Livingston tapping his phone on the table, his gaze fixed on the opposite wall.

“Bad news?” Brogan set down the cups and retook his seat.

“No, not at all. Just very surprising.” Livingston made no move to pick up his coffee mug. “I’ve been a detective for twenty-three years, and believe me when I say, I’ve seen humanity at its worst. You kind of stop believing in miracles.” He met Brogan’s gaze. “Then you get a phone call like this, and you start to wonder if there is a God after all.”

Brogan’s investigative antenna went on high alert. “What did the lab say?”

“It was the darndest thing. We’d sent the blue bunny to the lab after the Thompsons positively identified it as belonging to Jesse. Not that we were expecting anything, given someone obviously sent it to Harman to scare her, which surely meant there was nothing of forensic value to be found.”

Brogan wanted to shake the other man to get to the point, but he restrained himself. “But that’s not what happened.”

“No. The technician scanned the bunny and discovered a small recording device where the bunny’s heart would be. If stuffed rabbits had hearts, that is.”

Brogan’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

“That was my reaction too.” Livingston shook his head. “I mean, what are the odds of recovering what might turn out to be the equivalent of a smoking gun after nearly two decades?”

“What was on the recording?” Brogan could hardly wrap his mind around what the detective was saying. The blue bunny had a secret recorder installed within its stuffed body. The possibility of Jesse’s last moments being captured on audio stirred a mixture of excitement and fear.

“The technician said she hasn’t listened to it yet. It’s so old, she has to jerry-rig a way to play it.” Livingston scrubbed a hand over his face. “I told her this was a top priority, so she’s going to get started right away.”

“How long do you think it will take?”

The detective shrugged. “Daisy’s one of the best, so I imagine she’ll have something figured out in a couple of hours. Might take longer because she’ll have to move slowly to avoid damaging the device. There’s no guarantee there’s anything on the recorder.”

“But if there is, surely it will be around the time of Jesse’s disappearance.”

Livingston took a sip of coffee. “While we’re waiting, let’s make good use of our time. Do you want the housekeeper’s folder or the head gardener’s?”

Brogan hadn’t read either one yet. “I’ll take the gardener’s.”

Livingston handed him the folder, then bent his head over the housekeeper’s.

As Brogan read the initial police interview with Dwayne Poteet, who had worked as a gardener for the Thompsons for five years prior to the disappearance, he couldn’t tamp down the excitement that the case was about to break wide open.

* * *

“He’s not my attorney.”Jared crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. He glared at Dan Stabe, who sat beside him. The two detectives on the opposite side of the metal table exchanged glances but said nothing.

“Jared, your father sent me to look after you,” Stabe said.

“You no longer practice criminal law.” Jared didn’t want to air his family’s dirty laundry in front of the cops, but he also didn’t want this bozo representing him. Stabe had defended Melender, then joined the law firm that represented his father’s energy company. Even though Jared had been pleased with the outcome of his cousin’s trial, he didn’t trust Stabe to have his best interests. Not with Quentin paying the bill.

“Granted, I haven’t practiced criminal law in several years, but I am capable of representing you in this matter.” Stabe smiled, but it didn’t reassure Jared.

“I. Want. A. New. Lawyer.” Jared enunciated each word as if speaking to a child.

Stabe looked at the detectives. “Would you excuse us for a moment while I confer with my client?”

Collier and a different detective whose name Jared had forgotten stood as one. “Sure. Knock on the door when you have this resolved,” Collier said.

Jared waited until the interview room door closed behind the cops before turning to Stabe. “Listen, I don’t care what my father told you to do, I don’t want you representing me.”

“You were fine with my help yesterday.” Stabe dropped his solicitous manner, his expression morphing from confident to concerned. “What’s going on?”

“I had a change of heart overnight.” Jared wasn’t about to explain that he wanted to cut a deal by revealing what he knew about the night Jesse disappeared. His father would kill him if he found out, and Jared wasn’t sure that the sentiment would only be a figure of speech. Dad had given him a home after the acrimonious divorce from Jared’s mother, who had been quick to abandon her son in favor of jetting around the world with various lovers. Jared and his father had gotten along fine until Ruby entered the picture. Then his father’s allegiance had been to his new wife followed by his new children. Jared had been relegated to the sidelines, which he hadn’t minded too much, since he had been a teenager when they married.

But his father wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice Jared if it meant keeping Ruby and Jillian safe. Jared suspected that Stabe wouldn’t let a little thing like attorney-client privilege stop him from sharing what Jared said in confidence.

“A change of heart.” Stabe narrowed his eyes. “Listen up. You better not be changing your story at this late game. Your father—”

“You see, that’s the problem. This is not about my father. It’s about me and my life. You are more concerned with how this will play out for my dad than you are in making sure I get a fair deal. So I repeat. I do not want you as my attorney.”

Stabe held his gaze for a long moment, but Jared didn’t waver. Finally, the older man shrugged. “Have it your way.” He grabbed his briefcase and stalked toward the door, knocking firmly before turning back. “You’d better think long and hard about whatever it is you’re planning to do. Your father has many friends in high places.”

“I’ll take my chances.” Jared broke eye contact as the door opened.

“Everything okay in here?” Collier asked, her gaze swinging from Jared to Stabe.

Stabe paused in the doorway as if giving Jared one more chance to change his mind, then shook his head. “I’m no longer representing Mr. Thompson.”