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Men who reach the heights of the Yarneco Tower are accustomed to giving quick orders and moving on. Short attention spans are as important as MBAs. And they expect their minions to get the shorthand, take the hint. I pulled out a chair and sat. He really focused on me for the first time, as if a lamp had talked back to him. His eyes were a fierce light blue. “I was five years old when that happened. How much do you remember from when you were five?”
Quite a lot, actually. But I just sat there silently.
“Andy and Woodrow were my brothers. We played together. Sometimes they drove me crazy. We fought over who got to sit in the front seat with dad. I’ve tried not to dwell on what happened.”
“You know we found them in a building that’s owned by Yarneco?”
He sighed and pulled out a chair, compressing himself into it. “Yarneco owns a lot of property,” he said. “Actually, no, I didn’t know that.”
“One of the things I’m trying to figure out is how they got into the tunnel in that old building.”
“Only the man who kidnapped them would know that.”
“There was never any speculation in the family about what happened?”
I could see the cords in his neck tighten, but his face and voice stayed calm. “What happened? What happened was that my father and grandfather died within a few years of that awful crime. My brother and I were raised by relatives back East. The family was nearly destroyed.”
“Do you remember the night your brothers disappeared, Thanksgiving night?”
“I already told you no. My brother James is older, so maybe he does.” He crossed his arms and bore those light blue eyes into me. “This is just an academic exercise for you.”
“Not at all,” I said. “I’m not trying to revive your pain. I am trying to wrap up an open kidnapping and homicide case, and there aren’t many people still living who can give the information I need.”
Whether that satisfied him or not, I don’t know. He stared at the doors, maybe wishing Megan would appear in her nicely cut powder-blue suit and elegant legs. Hell, I did, too. I asked, “Did your father carry a pocket watch?”
“No, he wore wristwatches.”
I showed him the photo of the pocket watch with the HY brand. “That’s grandfather’s brand,” he said. “But I’ve never seen that watch. What does it mean?”
“We found it with the remains.”
He shook his head a couple of millimeters. “What can any of this mean?” he said. “They caught the man and executed him. This is all history.”
“They caught a woman with him, too,” I said. “I talked to her yesterday.”
He sat back, stared out the window toward Camelback Mountain and gave the top of his right hand a savage scratching. Then he stopped and regarded me again.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Frances Richie is still in prison.”
He raised his hands as if to let the information slip through.
“She’s nearly senile,” I said. “She wasn’t much help.”
He was on his feet. “I have another meeting, Mapstone. I’m sure you understand. You read the paper, so you know Yarneco is involved in a very difficult project at the moment. Lots of controversy. We’ve received threats.”
I rose, too.
“What kind of project?”
The thin executive lips pressed hard together. Then, “We’re in a consortium to build a new copper mine in the state. It will be the first new mine here in decades. I’m sure you can understand, this has angered some environmental groups.”
I thanked him for his time.
“This Lieutenant Hawkins said the DNA test should establish the identity. So we will finally have some closure.”
Closure. Even CEOs had learned the therapeutic language of the age. “I may need to call you again if there are other questions.”
