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  He could see her in his mind, or at least her image as she appeared on the tape he had viewed the previous night. “Trent Randolph’s ex-wife?”

  “I never thought of him that way!” she said, as if she had just watched the same tape and knew her lines. “But yes, I was married to Trent, and Amanda was my daughter, and Seth was my son. My son — do you understand? And you are about to give my son’s murderer a funeral with — with bagpipes and things!”

  “No, we’re not. It’s a private funeral. No special treatment by the department.”

  There was a brief silence. “Are you sure?”

  “Very sure. Do you mind if I ask who told you otherwise?”

  “Friends of my husband.”

  “Trent Randolph’s friends?”

  “No, I… I remarried. My current husband was a member of the police department for a time. He still has many friends there.”

  “Dale Britton.”

  “Yes. Do you know him?”

  “Your husband had left by the time I was hired here. But I can assure you that his friends were mistaken about the funeral.”

  “Oh. Well — I’m quite upset about all of this.”

  Wondering if the Randolph cases could possibly become more of a nightmare than they already were, he said, “That’s understandable. Anyone in your situation would be upset.”

  He heard her draw in a steadying breath. “Dale told me they’ll be reopening the investigation into the murders.”

  “The cases have never been officially closed — but yes. In fact, I was hoping I could talk to you at some point—”

  “Of course! I’ve been wondering, you know, if anyone was going to call me. Are you the detective assigned to my husband’s and children’s murders?”

  “Yes, I am. I’ve only had the cases since late Saturday, though, so I’m just getting started.”

  “We must definitely meet soon, then. Dale and I will take you to lunch today.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it for lunch,” he said, not because he already had plans, but because he didn’t like the way she was trying to take control. “Are you free at all this morning?”

  “Oh… Dale has business meetings… but I’m the one you probably really want to talk to, right? I mean, I’m the one who has suffered the most in all this. No one has been hurt more than me.”

  “I’d appreciate any time you can spare,” he said, working to keep his voice neutral, trying not to betray his disgust. “I can meet with your husband later.”

  “I’m just leaving for downtown, but I’ll be free later this morning.”

  He arranged to meet her at ten-thirty at a coffee shop not far from the newspaper, then called Irene. “Want to have lunch together?” he asked. “I’m going to be downtown.”

  “Still not convinced we’ve patched things up?”

  He hesitated, then said, “Have we?”

  “No, but we’re making progress.”

  “I’m all for progress. Meet me for lunch.”

  “What brings you this way?”

  “Just between us?”

  “Of course.”

  “Going to meet with Tory Randolph. Tory Randolph-Britton.”

  “Oh, you poor thing. A front-row seat for the Me Show, starring Tory. God, she’s a bitch.”

  “Tell me how you really feel about her.”

  She laughed. “It’s awful, I know. I really wanted to feel sorry for her — I mean, what happened to her family was terrible. But she uses it to gain attention for herself in a truly repulsive way. No wonder Randolph dumped her — I think it’s a shame that she ended up with his money.”

  He felt a mild shock — it suddenly dawned on him that in all the files and notes he had read on all of these cases, no real time had been spent on a question that had to be considered in any murder investigation: Who benefits by this death? In both the Amanda murders and Seth’s murder, obvious suspects had been pursued — even though a lot of money was at stake, and neither Dane nor Lefebvre would inherit.

  “Tell me what you know about that, Irene. The money went to Tory?”

  “Not immediately, and I’m sure her ex-husband never intended that she’d get any of it. But apparently his will was poorly worded. Trent Randolph knew how to make money, but he didn’t know how to bequeath it. Which was a pity for his company’s stockholders.”

  “Why?”

  “Randolph Chemicals was a bigger company ten years ago than it is now, and its future looked rosy. The first blow came when Trent was murdered, because he was the driving force behind the company. Everything was supposed to go to his children, but Amanda was dead, too. So Seth inherited everything, but of course, he was underage — so it stayed in trust, and he never took control. Unfortunately, because of some problem in the way the trust was set up, Seth’s estate ultimately went to Tory.”

  “And now she shares it with a former member of the department.”

  “Yes. Dale Britton — he quit the department before they officially dated, but she definitely met him through the investigation. Weird, huh? He went from Crime Lab Technician II to CEO when he said, ‘I do.’”

  “Are you telling me Britton runs Randolph Chemicals?”

  “Not now — but he did for a short time. He has a degree in chemistry, but no real background in business or manufacturing. That didn’t stop Tory from making him president of the company.”

  “What happened to the company?”

  “In the beginning, it looked as if it was going to be a total disaster — stock price fell and lots of their best employees abandoned ship. Some of that started when Trent Randolph was killed, of course. So just when the company was starting to recover from that setback, Tory insisted on making her new hubby the boss. Luckily, Britton was smart enough to see that if he stayed at the helm, the value of all that stock he married into was going to be a big zero. So he managed to keep some key people by ‘retiring’ and letting wiser heads rule. Things improved, and the two of them aren’t hurting for bucks, but Randolph Chemicals never regained all the ground it lost.”

  “I can’t help but feel a little sorry for Tory Randolph,” Frank said. “To lose two children to murder — especially after Seth survived the first attack—”

  “For almost any other mother, that would be true. I felt bad for her, too, until I saw how much she gloried in the attention she was getting. It was awful. You’ll be around her for more than ten seconds, so I know you’ll have a chance to see what I mean.”

  He stopped by the lab, feeling a little awkward when he saw Alfred Larson and Paul Haycroft examining the paper airplane.

  “Frank!” Haycroft said, smiling at him. “We were wondering if we should call in the NTSB on this one, too.”

  “Don’t let him give you a hard time,” Larson said. “It’s a good piece of evidence. Thanks for taking the time to bring it by from the hospital. It should have been recovered by one of our people, of course, but I don’t think they could bring themselves to treat Captain Bredloe as if he were just any other victim of an assault. How is the captain? Any word?”

  “Nothing new,” Frank said. “Call Pete if you’d like — Miriam said she’d call him today if there was any change.”

  “And not you?” Haycroft asked in surprise.

  “No — I’ve got a full day ahead of me today, and Pete’s working here in the office. Carlson has vowed to suspend him if he doesn’t clear his desk off.”

  Haycroft laughed. “I’m afraid your lieutenant is fighting a losing battle.”

  “So — you think you can learn anything from this?” Frank asked, indicating the plane.

  “Possibly,” Haycroft said. “We’ve taken a look at the paper — it’s a better grade of twenty-pound bond, but unfortunately it isn’t all that special — it’s a type sold in many stationers and office supply stores. As you know, the more unique something is, the more helpful it is to us. I don’t know that this will lead you to the attacker, but it might help us
nail him once you’ve found him. There are these cutout areas in the tail section, and if he hasn’t taken out his trash or gone to the recycling center, we might match the cutout places to the paper that has been removed. And, of course, the plane isn’t folded in an ordinary way.”

  “Folded with real precision,” Larson said. “The attacker isn’t sloppy.”

  “Which means we no longer suspect Pete Baird,” Haycroft said, and Larson laughed.

  “Pete’s desk may be messy,” Frank said, regretting that he had told them about Pete’s run-in with Carlson, “but his work isn’t.”

  “Of course not,” Larson said quickly. “Your partner’s track record proves that. But the person who folded this also gave it a unique design, or at least not one that just anyone would fold when making a paper airplane.” He handed Frank a sheet of paper. “If I asked you to make one, what would you do?”

  Frank folded the classic design.

  “Yes, in half, then the nose and a pair of wings. A few folds. But this is more elaborate. Perhaps not as fancy as the ones engineering students design for college competitions, but closer to those than the one you just made. Making a simple plane wasn’t good enough. It gives us an insight into his character.”

  “It explains the fan, too,” Frank said.

  “Exactly!” Haycroft said. “He wanted the plane to fly toward the captain, but since he didn’t want to be in the building, he couldn’t launch it himself, so he thought up this mechanism.”

  “Ingenious, really,” Larson said. He explained that the cameras and lights had been set up by the attacker. “So it looks as if he knew what the captain might do to protect himself and created distractions.”

  “And drew him out into the middle of the mosaic, where Bredloe made a better target.”

  “Yes,” Larson said. “We’ve given this information to Vince Adams and Reed Collins. They’re handling the investigation of the attack. Apparently, there’s very little to go on.”

  Haycroft said, “You didn’t come down here just to ask about the plane, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t. I’ve wanted to talk to you about Trent Randolph, but I think that may have to wait until later. My more immediate interest is in Dale Britton.”

  Larson and Haycroft exchanged a look. Haycroft shook his head. “Rather awkward, isn’t it?”

  “You could put it that way.”

  “His involvement with Mrs. Randolph was my fault, I’m afraid,” Larson said.

  “You can’t blame yourself for it,” Haycroft protested.

  “I introduced them,” Larson said. “She was always hounding me — waiting for me outside the building, cornering me every chance she could to nag me about the investigations. She was calling here constantly, and I seemed only to infuriate her. One day she stopped me as I was walking out to the crime scene unit van. Dale was with me and I introduced them. He was much more patient with her — I could see that he had a calming effect on her. So I began to let him deal with her, and before long, he was the one she asked for when she called.”

  “Is he still in contact with you?”

  “No, I haven’t spoken to him since he resigned,” Larson said. “He kept coming back late from lunch, and eventually someone told me that these long lunches were with Mrs. Randolph. I asked him to stop seeing her — concerned that if we ever managed to bring charges against Whitey Dane, his lawyers would claim she was influencing the investigation. Dale resigned instead.”

  “So you haven’t talked to either of them lately?”

  “No,” Haycroft said. “Why do you ask?”

  “Someone in the department is contacting Dale Britton — at least his wife claims they’re getting updates about the Lefebvre case. Not very accurate ones, but he obviously has some connection here.”

  Al Larson frowned. “I suppose that’s to be expected, but I can’t say it makes me happy.”

  “I’ll see if I can learn more from her this morning,” Frank said, glancing at his watch. “I’d better get going. I’m supposed to meet her at ten-thirty.”

  “Good luck, Frank,” Haycroft said. “Of all the questions you might have about Trent Randolph, you’ll have the answer to one of them by ten thirty-five — you’ll know why he got a divorce.”

  17

  Tuesday, July 11, 10:35 A.M.

  Downtown Las Piernas

  She was standing outside the small café, talking on a cellular phone. Her face was turned slightly away from him, so she did not see him yet and did not know that he had seen her stomp her foot in impatience with her caller.

  She was in her late forties, he thought, although doing her best to look much younger than that. She had succeeded to a greater degree than Polly Logan. She was still a beautiful woman, and he wondered briefly if Amanda would have grown up to look like her. But Frank could not reconcile the file photos of smiling, carefree Amanda with Tory Randolph-Britton.

  She was slender and dressed becomingly in a dark silk suit. As he approached, she watched him appraisingly and began to smile. If it hadn’t been so blatantly predatory, he decided, it would have been more attractive.

  She put the phone away and extended a well-manicured hand. “Detective Harriman? I’m Tory.”

  “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice,” he said. Her clasp was cool and firm, and she held his hand a little longer than necessary.

  “Anything I can do to be of help to you, Frank — it is Frank, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Let’s go inside.”

  The owner greeted him by name and gestured toward a booth.

  “You come here often?” Tory said, then giggled. “Sorry, that sounds like a bad pickup line.”

  “My wife works not far from here,” he said. “So, yes, I’m here fairly often.”

  “Oh.” She lowered her lashes and began tapping her nails on the gleaming wood of the tabletop.

  A waiter came and Frank ordered a coffee. Tory ordered a double latte and a croissant. “I shouldn’t, but I feel like being bad,” she said, smiling.

  “Tell me, how did you meet your husband?” he asked.

  “We met in college — oh, do you mean Dale?”

  “Let’s start with Trent.”

  “Trent, I met in college — at San Diego State. He was crazy over me then. In those days, he couldn’t believe his luck. He was this nerdy science guy, and — well, let’s just say he wasn’t my only admirer.”

  He smiled, hoping it didn’t look as phony as it felt.

  “Yes indeed. You may not believe it to look at me now, but I was quite a beauty in my day. Won a pageant — just a little local contest in El Cajon, but still—”

  What the hell, he thought. No use insulting her — chances were, she could provide information he couldn’t get from anyone else. “I have no trouble believing you could have won any contest you entered. I take it marrying Trent was the only reason you didn’t go on to state competition?”

  “Oh, there were some who thought I could have taken it all.”

  “And I would be sitting here having coffee with Miss America. Imagine that.”

  She laughed, clearly delighted. “Well, who knows, right?”

  Their orders arrived. It wasn’t hard to see the way to her heart, so as soon as the waiter walked away, Frank said, “Trent Randolph must have been the envy of every man on campus.”

  “Oh, yes. But I didn’t do so badly, either. He was a handsome man, but he wore glasses — not real thick ones, but still, most girls didn’t notice him. To be honest, he was a big old clumsy geek when I met him. A chemistry major — and a computer freak!”

  Let her keep talking, he told himself.

  “My mother thought he’d never go anywhere, but I guess I showed her, didn’t I? He had a quality about him that I saw right away. He was smart, he was ambitious, and he was — oh, a leader. And after I had a chance to teach him not to wear such dumb-looking outfits and got him to start wearing contact lenses — let me tell you, there was a bona fide hunk under
neath that geek.”

  “He was lucky to have your help.”

  “Damned straight he was! I was no small part of his success. And what does he do? Has himself some midlife crisis and runs off with the first bimbo to lean her tits over his mouse pad.”

  Frank recalled the scant information in the files about Trent Randolph’s girlfriend. Another person who had been overlooked by the investigation — she had been dumped by the man not long before the murders. Trying to learn more while letting Tory believe he was sympathetic, he asked, “This home wrecker worked in your husband’s office?”

  “No, but he met her there. Some blond bimbo from an import business. Tessa. As in she had him by the Tessa-ticles. He walks out after seventeen years of marriage to chase after a woman who wasn’t all that much older than Seth. It broke the kids’ hearts. When I think of what we did to them… not knowing…”

  She fell silent and tears began rolling slowly down her face. He offered her a tissue, and she took it with a muttered thanks. For the first time since he sat down across from her, he thought she might be thinking of someone other than herself. An unconcealed, sudden sadness had taken hold of her, and he found himself feeling relieved that perhaps she was not as utterly self-involved as he had thought her to be. He did not admire her, or even like her, but sorrow softened her.

  She drew a hiccuping breath and said, “Do you have children, Frank?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “If I had known what was going to happen to them… I’m not sure I would have — no, that’s not true. I don’t regret bringing Seth and Amanda into this world. Not for one minute. That would be like — like making their deaths all that mattered. And that would mean I had let their killers win, do you see?”

  “Yes, I think I do,” he said, beginning to see the fighter in her and wondering if Trent Randolph had perhaps once loved her for more than her beauty.

  She wiped at her eyes, studying him. “I believe you do. So you see, that’s why I make such a damned nuisance of myself as far as the police in this town are concerned. I have hated two names for the past ten years: Philip Lefebvre and Whitey Dane. They robbed me in the worst way. I thought Tessa Satel had robbed me of my husband — but that was nothing — I think Trent and I would have patched things up, given a little more time. But Whitey Dane robbed me of all the time I ever could have had to do that, and took Trent away from me in a way that made Tessa look downright charitable. And he robbed me of my daughter, and ultimately arranged to rob me of my son. He took my future.”