Chapter 8

Quentin Thompson sunk a forty-foot putt, then jabbed his fist in the air, Tiger Woods style.

His golf partner, Judge Greg Moloney, grinned. “With that kind of putting, we’ll cinch next month’s charity golf tournament for sure.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have taken that bet,” grumbled the third member of their quartet, U.S. Senator Edward Johnston, as he lined up his shot at the eighteenth hole.

“Some guys have all the luck.” Wilton Brown, a partner at the law firm of Davis, Ramsey, and Stevens who handled Quentin’s business interests, selected his club. “Look at you. You have a booming business, a beautiful wife, and a game under par. I say that’s the epitome of injustice.”

“What can I say?” Quentin chuckled, spreading his arms wide. “I’m just a great guy.” His cell phone vibrated, and he pulled it out of the clip at his waist. The bright sunlight made reading the caller ID difficult, so he simply hit the accept button. “Hello?”

“Are you sure it’s wise to play golf at a time like this?”

Quentin looked around, then angled his body away from the other golfers. “How did you get this number?”

“I think that’s the least of your worries, don’t you?”

“Now is not a good time for me to talk.” Quentin threw a glance over his shoulder in time to see Edward sink his shot.

“Make it a good time.”

Quentin muted the phone, then faced the others. “Excuse me, but I need to take this.”

Edward pointed at him. “You’re buying the first round.”

“I know the rules.” The first of the foursome to take a call on the course had to buy the initial round of drinks at the clubhouse. “Tell Henry to put it on my tab. Greg, can you take my clubs in the cart?”

“Sure, no problem,” Greg replied. “Everything okay?”

Quentin nodded. “A pressing matter with a current project. I’ll catch up to you at the clubhouse.”

As the other three loaded golf bags into the two carts, Quentin rushed to the paved pathway that circled the course and unmuted the phone. “This had better be important.”

“I don’t think you’re in any position to make demands. It sounds like you’ve forgotten who helped you out of that bind you were in eighteen years ago.”

Quentin opened his mouth to respond but thought better of it and reigned in his temper with some effort. No sense in riling up someone who could easily destroy all he had. “You were paid for your assistance. Quite handsomely, I should add.”

“Which is why you’ve managed to stay out of harm’s way for so long.”

Quentin waved as his buddies passed him in their golf carts, waiting until they were well out of earshot before continuing. “According to my calculations, we’re even. There’s nothing left to discuss.”

“Even?” A chuckle that held no mirth crackled over the line. “I think we have a lot to talk about. I see your niece is back in town.”

“Melender served her time.” Quentin quickened his pace along the path.

“We both know your wife is going to hound Melender into revealing Jesse’s whereabouts.”

Quentin stayed silent.

“And we both know digging up that particular body is only going to bring more grief upon your family.”

Quentin spotted a somewhat secluded bench set behind an overgrown leafy bush and made a beeline for it. Too many friends kept passing him in their carts to make this conversation private. He settled on the bench. “What urgent matter do we need to discuss?”

“Your plan to keep Melender Harman from figuring out what happened to Jesse. There’s more than the secret of where your son’s body is buried that could spill out.”

Quentin sucked in a breath, the pain of losing Jesse striking him hard. “I thought there was nothing to worry about on that score.” He had been foolish to think Ruby had let go of her need to find Jesse’s body. Just because she had stayed quiet about it for years didn’t mean she’d resigned herself to never having a place to visit her son. Now he could see she had merely been waiting for Melender to serve her time and get out before relaunching her quest to bring her son home.

“When it concerns your wife, there’s always something to worry about.”

“I’ll do my best, but Ruby has a mind of her own.” Quentin tried not to think about what else might float to the surface if his wife pushed Melender too hard. So far, his niece had done nothing to reveal she even recalled what had happened prior to Jesse’s disappearance, but rooting through the past might bring that memory back.

“Your job is to make sure nothing new comes to light. Because this house of cards will come tumbling down if someone starts fiddling with the construction. Are you ready to pay that price?”

* * *

Brogan hit send ona story about the retirement of a Fairfax City School Board member. His next assignment—to cover tomorrow morning’s ribbon cutting to officially open Potomac Landings, a new mixed-use development with residential townhouses and upscale businesses—meant he had the rest of Monday afternoon free to start digging into Jesse Thompson’s disappearance.

But not at the newspaper office. This was best done away from the prying eyes of his editor and colleagues. With a wave to the receptionist, Brogan headed toward his car. Once inside, he pulled up the contacts list on his phone. Didn’t his old college roommate still work for the FBI? He’d called Tim a couple of times when he’d worked on other investigative stories, but it had been more than a decade since they’d talked. He hit the call button.

“FBI media relations, Tim Nash speaking.”

“Tim, it’s Brogan Gilmore.”

A beat passed. “Brogan, it’s been a long time.”

Ignoring the less-than-cordial tone in Tim’s voice, Brogan plowed on. “Yes, it has been. Would love to catch up with you now that I’m back in the area.”

“That so.”

“I’m working at the Northern Virginia Herald these days.” Brogan continued as if Tim had asked. “I have some questions about an old kidnapping case that I thought you might be able to provide some background on.”

“This is about a story?”

Brogan couldn’t tell if Tim sounded relieved or disappointed that he hadn’t called just to shoot the breeze. He decided the only way to relieve Tim’s hurt feelings was to be completely honest. “I’m not sure if there is a story or not. I really just wanted to pick your brain about the case.”

“You want my advice about an old kidnapping case.”

Brogan turned down the A/C. “Yes.”

“Off the record?”

“Most definitely off the record.”

Tim sighed. “I’m assuming it was a local case?”

“Yes, happened in McLean, Virginia.”

“What’s the name and year?”

“Jesse Thompson, eighteen years ago.” Brogan resisted the urge to drum his fingers on the steering wheel as Tim clacked on a keyboard.

“This isn’t an unsolved kidnapping case.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

“Why are you looking into the kidnapping where the perpetrator was arrested, tried, and convicted?”

The very question Brogan had been asking himself. The answer most certainly did not lie in the fact that he couldn’t say a hard no to those beautiful yet haunting blue eyes. “I read the trial transcript, and some things didn’t quite add up.”

“Have you met Melender Harman?” Tim’s matter-of-fact question echoed in Brogan’s ear.

Fighting the urge to jack up the A/C again as heat inched up his neck and face, Brogan acknowledged the hit. “Yes, she’s the one who asked me to look into it with her.”

“I thought she would be out of prison by now.”

“She was released eight months ago.”

“That’s strange. She would have been eligible for parole after eight to ten years. Wonder why she served the entire sentence?”

“You met her too?”

“No, but I remember seeing her during the trial when I was working for the Fairfax County Court House media relations department. She always looked so bewildered and scared.”

“Guilty-scared or innocent-scared?” Brogan balanced his notebook on the steering wheel to jot down Tim’s comments for background. The more he learned about Melender, the more he’d be able to figure out the real story.

“My gut at the time said she had nothing to do with Jesse’s disappearance.” Tim paused. “Back then, I wasn’t in law enforcement, so I can’t say whether that was because she really wasn’t guilty or because I felt sorry for a kid who took off her shoes every chance she got.”

“You mean in court?”

“No, she came to court in shoes, but she would kick them off during recesses and anytime she went outside. This was in November, so it wasn’t freezing but still, it was rather strange.”

Brogan noted the story, then shifted the phone to his other shoulder. “She grew up in Maple Hollow, Virginia, in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains near the Shenandoah Valley. It’s so small, it doesn’t even show up on most maps.”

“Hold on a minute.” Tim muffled the receiver on his end, then came back on the line. “I’ve got to go. Did you need anything else?”

“Is there any chance I could take a look through the FBI files on the case?” Brogan could have filed a Freedom of Information Act form to see the documents, but he’d rather try to get the information quietly. A FOIA would proclaim his interest in the Thompson kidnapping to the world at large.

“Is that all?”

But Brogan heard acquiescence in Tim’s voice, not annoyance. “I could file a FOIA, and since the case is closed…” He left the thought unfinished.

“You’re right that a closed case means the files aren’t classified. However, I will need the official form on file.”

Brogan sighed. “I’ll email it to you this afternoon.”

“But don’t worry. I won’t log it into the system right away. There’s a huge backlog of those requests, so yours could easily get pushed down in the pile for a few weeks.”

“Thanks, Tim. I owe you. When do you think I could get a look at the files?”

Tim snickered. “She must have grown up nicely.”

Heat fanned Brogan’s cheeks despite the cool temperature inside his car. During their collegiate days, Tim always knew when Brogan was interested in a member of the opposite sex. No sense denying his interest in Melender. “I’ll admit I find her intriguing, but the fact that she served time for murder puts a damper on things romantically.”

“If you say so. I’ll give you a call once I’ve located the files.”

Brogan ended the call and snapped on his seatbelt. Putting the car into drive, he headed home. With any luck, he’d have the files in a couple of days and then he could see what, if any, evidence pointed to someone other than Melender for Jesse’s disappearance.