AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He was in the kitchen, dumping the last of the pizza in the trash, when Andy Fraser called him. It was after 10:00 P.M. Andy sounded like he’d been drinking.
“Tell me you’re going to get him,” he said.
Matthew didn’t pretend not to know who he was talking about. Nina’s father deserved more than that. He also couldn’t lie to the other man.
“I’m going to do everything I can. I promise you that.”
There was silence on the other end of the line. Then—
“He came on to Grace. He got her to meet him, alone, in the woods, and he came on to her. He tried to kiss her. Grace is fifteen years old. You understand what I’m telling you? Simon’s not some innocent kid. He’s a goddamn predator.”
Christ. For a second, Matthew closed his eyes.
“Would Grace be willing to talk to me? To make a statement?”
“If she did, would it make a difference?”
Matthew paused. He really didn’t want to say what he had to say next. “Did anyone else see what happened?”
Andy said nothing.
“Because the risk is that—”
Andy cut him off. “I know what the goddamn risk is. They’ll say she’s making it up. That we put Grace up to it to make Simon look bad, because we blame him for Nina.”
Matthew stared out of his kitchen window into the darkness. The bright lights of the kitchen meant that he couldn’t make out a thing outside of the dubious protection of his four walls. Safety was an illusion. The world had too many Simon Jordans. He and Naomi were trying for a baby. Had been for a long time, and now she wanted to talk adoption. Maybe they should forget about it entirely. You put everything into your kid. Your love for each other, your hopes and dreams for the future. And then some predator comes along and destroys not only your precious child, but everything that made you you.
“I have to ask you to trust me. I promise you, I’m good at my job, and I care about this. I care about Nina. I’m not going to give up.”
“That’s not good enough. Tell me you’re going to get him. You need to promise me that you’re going to put him in jail.”
Matthew was not a fidgeter. Usually he worked hard to school his body into stillness, because he saw outer calm as a necessary precursor to a disciplined mind. But this case was getting to him. He rubbed at his jaw, feeling the rasp of two days’ stubble.
“I can’t do that,” he said. He thought again about what he’d said to Sarah Jane. That without a body it would be an uphill battle. “All I can tell you is that I’m going to do my best.”
There was another long silence, then Andy said again, quietly, “Not good enough,” and hung up the phone.
Matthew went to bed. He had a bad night’s sleep, broken with nightmares of missing girls calling for help. He went to work on Friday morning groggy and bad tempered. The breakthrough, when it came, was unexpected. He was at his desk when a call came in from the front desk.
“Woman here to see you by the name of Rita Gallo. Says she wants to talk to you about the Fraser case.”
He very nearly handed the interview off to Sarah Jane. Afterward, he wasn’t sure what had prompted him to stand up and go downstairs to talk to the woman himself. Maybe it was just that he was frustrated and needed a change of scene. The woman waiting for him downstairs was older. In her sixties, maybe. She wore jeans and sneakers and an old Patagonia jacket.
“Ms. Gallo. How can I help you?”
She took his hand and shook it. “I don’t know. I think maybe I can help you.”
He led her into an interview room. He offered her coffee.
“Thank you, no. I try not to drink caffeine. It keeps me up at night.”
They sat at opposite sides of the table. She looked around, briefly. It wasn’t a very friendly room. It wasn’t intended to be. He could see that she was intimidated by her surroundings, but she did a better job than most of hiding it.
“I used to work for Jamie Jordan,” she said abruptly. “Well, the whole Jordan family. I was their cleaner, until a few days ago.”
“I see,” Matthew said. “At the Stowe house?” Was she a Rory Jordan emissary? Had he sent her in to see him, to provide a neat explanation for the floor-cleaning question?
“Oh, no. I’ve never been to that house. No, I worked for the Jordans at their home in Waitsfield. For nearly twelve years, until this week, in fact.”
