“Too bad we can’t go inside,” Falco noted as he surveyed the three-story house.

  Asking the Abbotts for permission would have given a heads-up that they were checking out the family’s numerous properties.

  “No rule says we can’t look in the windows.” Kerri climbed the steps to the large porch. It was impossible to see through the stained glass of the front door. She walked from window to window and peered inside. The plantation shutters were open. The rooms beyond were fully and elegantly furnished. No lights on. No sign of occupancy. Falco was right: too bad they couldn’t go inside.

  “No one has gone through this door in weeks,” he said, drawing her attention to him.

  She joined him at the door, and he pointed to the knob. “See all that pollen? We haven’t had a high enough pollen count to do that since the last week of May. I’m guessing the cleaning service only comes out every month when the house is empty.”

  The guy was full of surprises. “You keep a watch on the pollen count?”

  He tapped the side of the nose. “Plays hell with my allergies.”

  “Let’s check out the other doors.”

  “Good idea, Devlin.” He grinned. “I wish I’d thought of it.”

  Kerri ignored his dig.

  It was the same at the other four entrances to the house. A heavy layer of dust and pollen sat on the antique bronze knobs or handles. No sign that anything had been disturbed beyond the windows through which they could see.

  After a walk around the property, they loaded into his Charger once more and headed back to the city. They had already checked the offices and rental properties owned by the Abbotts. All were occupied.

  “It’s possible there’s something under a different name,” Kerri said, more to herself than to her partner.

  “We could check under Ben Abbott’s mother’s maiden name.” Falco pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll have my contact in property records check it out.”

  Kerri scanned the passing landscape. Sela Abbott was laying low somewhere. She had resources, and Birmingham was a big town. She could be anywhere. “Where are we headed?”

  “We didn’t get back to the Abbott house to look for that weapon.”

  They’d meant to get back there yesterday, but then Diana had called. Another look around the crime scene was essential with the discovery that Sela Abbott had purchased a handgun.

  “I should finish going through the rooms upstairs as well.” Kerri hadn’t gotten past the mother-in-law’s room on Sunday. Sometimes the most complex answers were found in the simplest of places.

  Diana had called first thing this morning to let Kerri know Amelia hadn’t come home last night. She had, however, sent a text this morning saying she was okay and at work.

  Kerri wanted to be grateful for that, but mostly she wanted to shake her niece. What the hell was she doing? Everyone who loved her was walking around on eggshells for fear of wrecking her future by showing up at the firm in person to demand some sort of explanation for her out-of-character behavior. Their calls to Bellemont’s investigator, Neal Ramsey, had gone unreturned. Who the hell knew what was going on with that guy? Bellemont insisted he was completely trustworthy, but Kerri wasn’t convinced.

  It would be so easy to set the whole issue aside and just call it Amelia attempting to prove she was an adult now. But the connection to Sela Abbott prevented Kerri from being able to let it go so easily.

  Why the hell did daughters have to be so nerve racking?

  Abbott Crime Scene

  Botanical Place, Mountain Brook

  The Abbott home smelled of death. It had been closed up for a week now, and the odors related to the killings had seeped into the walls and the upholstery. The air was thick with it. Part of it was the idea of knowing what took place within these walls. The images that replayed instantly triggered memories of the smells from that first visit.

  So far no one had pushed for release of the property, which was a good thing. Generally, every attempt was made to release a residence as quickly as possible, but since no one who had resided in this house was still around, there was no hurry.

  They started outside, checking behind, under, and between shrubs before going inside. The garage was easy enough. Ben Abbott hadn’t been a DIY kind of guy when it came to maintenance around the house, so there was little to sort through. The downstairs living areas took additional time.

  Finally, they moved upstairs. Kerri took the mother-in-law’s space while Falco checked the nursery.

  Jacqueline Rollins had liked pink. Most of the clothes hanging in her closet were either pink or had pink somewhere in the fabric. She preferred shoes with practical flat heels. She owned only two handbags: a white one and a brown one. At the time of her death, she had been using the white one.

  Her wallet contained a photo of her and Sela—the first one they’d found of the two together. Some cash but no credit cards. An insurance card and a state ID card. No driver’s license.

  Kerri checked every shelf and drawer once again. Between the mattress and box springs and beneath the bed. She moved to the first of the two bedside tables. Nothing in the drawers beyond the usual tissues, flashlight, and typical personal items. She checked the bottoms of drawers and beneath the table itself just as she had last time.

  So far nothing had been overlooked in previous searches, certainly not a handgun. She moved on to the table on the other side of the bed.

  Nothing helpful in the drawers.

  She shifted the lamp and clock radio from the top and settled both on the floor, then removed the drawers. Nothing under either.

  She peered into the empty cavities of the table. When she would have called it done, she looked up again. Something caught her attention. A notebook or book was taped to the underside of the tabletop. How had she missed that last time?

  Kerri reached inside and pulled it out. Not a book. A small scrapbook or mini-album. Maybe six inches by ten.

  She sat down cross-legged on the floor and opened it.

  The first pages showed a young woman in various places. One appeared to be an apartment; others were outside. A yard. Trees. Nothing unusual. Kerri studied the woman’s face. The younger woman appeared to be Sela’s mother at what looked like twenty or twenty-five years of age. She frowned, looked more closely. Maybe not. The features weren’t right somehow.

  Kerri moved to the next page in the mini-album. Some of the areas where shots were taken looked vaguely familiar. Judging by the cars in one photo, the time frame would have been in the late seventies, maybe early eighties. If she could see a license plate—

  “Devlin!”

  Clutching the album, Kerri got to her feet and went in search of her partner. “Where are you?”

  “The kid’s room.”

  Nursery. She headed in that direction. The smell of death was stronger here. The crimson stains on the carpet reminded anyone who looked that a life-and-death struggle had played out in that spot, culminating in the death of Jacqueline Rollins.

  “What’d you find?”

  Standing at the crib, he gestured inside it. “Did you do this?”

  Kerri moved to his side and peered at the white bedding with its pink unicorns. The quilt had been drawn back and the stuffed unicorn, along with the pillow, pushed out of place. She shook her head. “I looked each time we walked through the scene, but I didn’t touch anything. I didn’t see any reason to.”

  “Me either,” Falco confirmed. “So unless one of the other cops did this after we left, someone else has been in the house.”

  “You check with the security company, and I’ll call Officer Matthews. She was here when the house was locked up that night.” Beyond the second pass by the crime scene investigators—and Matthews would have been with them—no one else had been in the house except her and Falco. Well, and Gibbons, but Kerri had been with her at the time.

  Matthews answered on the first ring. Her response to Kerri’s question was exactly what she had expected. Nothing in the crib had been disturbed. The struggle had taken place on the other side of the room, and the crib had appeared untouched. No reason to go there.

  In truth, no one wanted to poke around in the crib, knowing that the pregnant mother was missing.

  Falco walked back in the room. “Someone was in the house Sunday night. If it wasn’t Tanya or you, then we need to find out if one of the parents was here, because it damned sure wasn’t me.”

  As far as anyone knew, the only other person who had the code and wasn’t confirmed dead was Sela Abbott.

  Except, in view of Marcella Gibbons’s little fling, maybe Neal Ramsey.

  “We need the crime scene folks to come dust this room and the security pads for prints.” Kerri’s heart started to pound. “Damn it. We need to know what was hidden under this pillow and comforter.” She wanted to kick herself for not looking. She’d done this long enough to know better than to ignore the most innocent of situations.

  Falco made the call. Kerri backed away from the crib for fear of accidently depositing some trace evidence.

  “They’ll be here in half an hour,” her partner announced.

  Kerri nodded. “Good.”

  “What’ve you got there?”

  Kerri held up the mini-album she’d completely forgotten she was clutching. “I found this stashed beneath the bedside table in the mother’s room. I can’t believe I missed it before, but apparently I did.”

  Falco took the album and flipped through the pages.

  “I think that’s Jacqueline when she was maybe in her twenties. She looks a lot different, but that was a long time ago.” Kerri shrugged. “There’s not enough recognizable background in the photos for me to determine where she is.”

  Falco studied photo after photo. “She’s here.”

  Kerri leaned toward him and looked at the photo that had stopped him. “How can you be sure?”

  “You see that shop right there?”

  “I do, but I don’t recognize it.”

  “That’s over in Irondale. It was a pharmacy. Had a soda fountain where you could get ice cream cones.”

  “You can’t really see the name of the place. It’s behind her.”

  “I grew up in that area. I know this place.”

  “I thought you grew up in Montgomery.”

  He shook his head. “We didn’t move there until high school.” He tapped the photo. “This is Irondale.”

  “So the mother lived here first.” Her gaze connected with Falco’s. “Maybe that’s why Janelle came to Birmingham. There could have been family friends. Distant relatives.”

  “It would sure as hell help if we could find someone who remembers Janelle coming back.”

  If only, Kerri mused.

  Falco flipped a few more pages. He stopped and tapped another photo. “That’s the missing wife.”

  Kerri studied the photo. He was right. She hadn’t gotten that far before he’d called her to the nursery. “This must be her older sister, Janelle, and the mother, I think.” It was the first photo of the three women together they had found. Again, the mother looked so different it was difficult to say for sure. Time and poor health changed people.

  When Falco turned to the next page, something fell to the floor. Kerri bent down and picked up a small envelope. The kind purchased in a set with matching stationery. She turned it over. The envelope was addressed to Jacqueline Rollins in San Diego. Postmarked in Birmingham. Janelle had been the sender. The return address was the apartment complex where she’d lived.

  Kerri opened the envelope and pulled out the letter. It was a single page folded in half. In the fold was a small photograph of Janelle and a man who appeared a few years older than her. Instinct nudged Kerri, but it was difficult to say for sure if she’d ever seen him. He wasn’t looking directly into the camera lens. “Does he look familiar to you?”

  Falco shook his head. “You?”

  “A little. I’ve seen him, I think.” Recognition sucker punched her. “Holy shit, I think this is Theo Thompson.”

  Falco took the photo from her.

  “Bear in mind,” she reminded him, “this was—what—at least fifteen years ago? And that’s a pretty small photo with him looking away from the camera.” She shrugged. “Maybe someone said something to him.” Or he was uncomfortable having his photograph taken with a woman who wasn’t his wife.

  Son of a bitch. Sela Abbott had been right when she’d told Bellemont this was about her sister and Theo Thompson.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “I think you might be right.”

  Kerri turned her attention to the letter.

  Momma & Sela,

  He is the one! We’re still keeping the news a secret from his father—he worries he won’t approve. Whether he does or not we’re getting married. Maybe we’ll come to San Diego so the two of you can be a part of the celebration!

  Love,

  J

  Fire lit in Kerri’s belly. “We need to confirm this is him.” She tucked the photo into her jacket pocket. “This might just go a long way in gaining a little cooperation from Thompson.”

  He’d sure as hell evaded their every attempt to interview him so far.

  “Since Bellemont has fessed up about knowing the older sister, maybe he can confirm what we suspect.” Falco shrugged. “It would definitely help if the guy was looking at the camera.”

  “It’s him.” But they had to be sure. “We can start with Bellemont,” Kerri agreed, “assuming we can catch him.”

  Her cell vibrated with an incoming text, and Kerri checked the screen. Amelia. Kerri couldn’t decide if she was relieved or pissed off at hearing from her.

  Do you believe the top level of Birmingham PD can be trusted?

  Kerri made a face. What kind of question was that?

  Yes. You know you can talk to me. Your mom is worried. I’m worried. I’m calling you.

  Can’t. In meeting at work. I’m good, I promise. The subject came up in the meeting. I was curious. Gotta go!

  If Amelia was at work, then she was okay, wasn’t she?

  Kerri sent Diana a text and let her know about the exchange; then she decided to check in with Tori on the way to Bellemont’s office.

  Not with a text. A call. She needed to hear her daughter’s voice.

  42

  12:30 p.m.

  The Country Club

  Country Club Road, Mountain Brook

  Keith climbed out of his car, leaving the door open for the valet. Meetings at the country club were his least favorite ones. No one came here anymore except members of the old Birmingham guard. The ones like the man he was to meet, who had run things for so long he couldn’t grasp the concept that his reign was nearing an end.

  Younger men, the next generation, like Lewis York and Theo Thompson, were taking over. Ben would have been one of those coming up. He had possessed the power of the family name and the old money as well as lots of new. He could have been governor. He could have been anything he wanted.

  But he had wanted his freedom. He had wanted the challenge of creating something no one else had. The funny thing was—Keith stared at the aging building representing power in this city—Ben had never cared about the money or the power. When his software development company had skyrocketed, he had been pleased, of course, but it had never been his priority.

  No matter that he had left years ago, landing on the other side of the country, this place, the unescapable pull of the family umbilical cord, had dragged him back.

  Now he was dead.

  Keith walked through the double doors, where he was greeted by the coat check attendee. Keith didn’t slow his forward momentum since he didn’t have a coat to check—or a hat or anything else.

  What he would more than anything like to check was the guilt weighing down on his shoulders.

  He should never have allowed this to start. He should have found a way to stop it.

  There was no way as far as he could see to make this right. The only thing he could do at this point was keep trying to find her . . . and let this damned nightmare play out.

  Daniel Abbott waited for him at his usual table. Men like Daniel had a table in this hallowed place. There were no designated tables for people like Keith. Not that he cared. He hated this political part of the world in which he was forced to operate. In a place like Birmingham, you were either in or you were out. To be in, you had to play especially nice with the folks in power.

  Like the Abbotts and the Thompsons and the scumbag Yorks.

  Keith pulled out the only other chair at the table for two. “Traffic was heavy,” he mentioned since he was fairly certain he was a minute or so late.

  “I’m glad you had the time to see me. What will you have?”

  The old man was already nursing a scotch on the rocks.

  “Water for me,” Keith said. Though he would love nothing more than to drown the guilty voices nagging at him, that could not happen right now. Not in this place or in the presence of this man. Rare was the day he dared to imbibe. Too many things could go wrong. A client could need him.

  There was never a good time for him to be anything less than stone-cold sober.

  Daniel gestured to the waiter standing by, and Keith’s glass was quickly filled with icy water. He doubted he would ever understand the subtle sign language in which these waiters and waitresses were obviously versed.

  “I genuinely hope you have an update for me.” Daniel sipped his scotch and waited.

  Keith wished he had the sort of update Daniel wanted. What he had was more bad news. “I’ve had no response from any of my sources. As for Sela, it’s as if she has dropped off the face of the earth.”

  “Except we know she hasn’t. She is out there somewhere.”

  Keith took a long swallow of the water, hoping the cold liquid would moisten his dry throat. “I genuinely feel we’re in over our heads, sir. We need to let the police handle this, and there is only one way that can happen. Those detectives must have all the information we can give them; otherwise they’ll continue to operate blindly.”

  Daniel shook his head adamantly. “We’ve already shared too much. I do not want this to go any further down that path. Ben is dead. Nothing we do will bring him back. I will not have his name sullied by the bloodthirsty media. They’re still showing up at my office and my home. But if she had anything to do with his death, I want to know.”