Eight
Wes Powell had remained hidden behind his dark glasses for the long moment it took him to place Nina Madden. In retrospect, he realized that, in all likelihood, he’d not have recognized her as the panicked young woman who’d collapsed in his arms on that cold February afternoon in 1989. That girl had had long black hair, deep green eyes that had been filled with terror, and the look of innocence about to be lost. The woman who stood before him now wore an air of maturity, of authority. The hair was shorter, the innocence long gone, but the eyes were the same. Deep green, long black lashes, the panic replaced with a wariness. Looking at her now, he could see the young girl she’d been.
He had remembered her because that day was so strong in his memory. He’d been on the force for exactly ten days when the last victim of the Stone River Rapist had been found facedown in her bed in her tiny off-campus apartment. Hers had been the first dead body he’d gotten up close and personal with, and he’d never forgotten. Just as he’d never forgotten being in Celestine Hall when the detectives had led Dr. Stephen Madden through the lobby, hands cuffed behind his back.
Wes had thought at the time that he’d never seen anyone so defiant. In the years since, he’d not seen anyone who’d worn the mantle of guilt as completely as Professor Madden had that day.
And now, here was Madden’s daughter, the pretty young girl he’d reached out to catch as she crumbled to the floor.
An uneasy thought occurred to him.
“Any particular reason you’re wanting to look at those reports now?” Please God, don’t let her be taken with the notion that her old man might have been innocent.
Stephen Madden’s daughter exchanged a glance with the woman who accompanied her, then looked at Wes and said, “I’m thinking about writing a book about my father.”
“A book,” he said flatly. Of course. Didn’t everyone want to write a book these days?
“Detective . . . Powell, was it?” The Madden woman’s friend was petite and had a mass of light auburn curls that framed her pretty face. She smiled and extended her hand. “I’m Regan Landry. I write true crime, and am currently looking into the Stone River Rapist story. Ms. Madden has kindly offered to assist me.”
“Landry.” Wes nodded. Of course he knew the name. “Josh’s daughter.”
“You knew my father?”
“We’d met on several occasions. He was quite the character.”
“That he was.”
“So, about those reports,” Madden’s daughter reminded him.
“Sure.” Wes sighed. He was late for a meeting with his chief; he’d been in Baltimore for the past thirty-six hours trying to connect the dots on a case that had been driving him crazy for the past three weeks, but he’d have to play nice. Regan Landry was a VIP, and he’d have to treat her like one. “I’ll be happy to have the files brought out from storage and copied, but I’m afraid I can’t promise it will be today. A lot of the old files were moved about five years ago, and it may take some time to locate them.”
“That’s fine. Just call and let me know when it’s ready. My name is Nina Madden, by the way. Let me give you my cell phone number. I just realized I only put my office and home numbers on the form I filled out.” She searched in her purse for a small leather case that held business cards. On the back, she wrote her number.
“I’ll make sure it’s taken care of.” Wes glanced at the front of the card. Nina E. Madden, Senior Editor. Griffin Publishing, New York, New York.
“Thank you, Detective. I appreciate your help.” There was a trace of coolness in Nina’s smile.
“My pleasure.” Wes held the door for the two women.
“Wes, the chief . . .” Janice Mayfield, the sole woman detective on the force, stepped into the hallway.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m coming.” Wes looked over his shoulder at the desk sergeant. “Would you mind putting in the request for all the files on the Madden case? You can have them delivered to my office.”
“You gonna be copying them yourself, then?”
Wes flashed a dark look.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” the sergeant muttered as Wes closed the door behind him.
“What do you think?” Nina asked after she and Regan had gotten into Regan’s Land Rover. “Do you think we’ll ever see those files?”
“No question,” Regan assured her. “He’s been around long enough to know how to play the game.”
“What’s the game?”
“We get what we asked for, or I go over his head,” she said. “I don’t usually like to say it this way, but the Landry name does carry a lot of weight in law enforcement. Dad had a tremendous readership among cops, coast to coast. He was very much pro-law, and they all knew it. He’d do book signings at small stores in small towns all across the country, and the place would be mobbed with cops. Same thing in the cities. They shared a very tight relationship. So I am not the least bit concerned about whether we’ll get the files. It’s simply a matter of when.”
“I’m looking forward to going through them.” Nina paused to reflect for a moment, then added, “At least, I think I am.”
“It’s not going to be pretty, I should warn you. You’re going to see and read a lot of things you might wish you’d skipped.” Regan slanted a sideways glance at Nina. “You know, I could always look through the files first, if you’d like. I’ve gone through countless police files. It takes a lot to rattle me.”
“Thanks, Regan, I appreciate the offer. But I think I need to do this myself.” Nina fell silent.
“You’ll read some things about your dad that might upset you.”
“I’ve been upset about my dad for almost half my life,” Nina said softly, staring straight ahead.
“This will be different. There will be reports in there detailing his relationships with all of these women. There will be statements that will be very upsetting to you.”
“I understand.”
“Well, just keep in mind that you can always count on me. If you want to talk things over, if you have any questions about things that don’t seem right . . .” Regan’s voice trailed away.
“I’m sure I’ll have questions. I’m sure we’ll have lots to talk about. And actually, if we’re going to try to piece this thing together with an eye toward proving or disproving my father’s allegations, you’re going to have to go through it all yourself. I’m sure you’ll pick out things that aren’t obvious to me. I’ve had no experience reading police reports, whereas you’ve been reading them for years.”
“Hey, when other kids were reading Golden Books, I was reading autopsy reports and witness statements at my father’s knee.”
“I could almost believe that.” Nina smiled.
“Well, just keep in mind that you’re allowed to skip things. Don’t feel you have to read the entire file.”
“I know. Thanks.”
A few minutes later, Nina said, “You’re right about one thing. I’m not looking forward to reading in-depth accounts of my father’s relationships with these girls.”
“That’s going to be tough,” Regan said softly.
“For me, personally, that whole older man–young girl thing has always been creepy. Throw in the fact that the old man is my father, and it raises the ick factor to new heights.”
“I can’t even begin to imagine. I often wondered if my father had any relationships with any of the women he knew, after my mother died. If he did, he never gave any indication.”
“You think he kept them from you?”
“My dad never was much for secrets.” Regan shook her head. “He always liked things right out there on the table.”
“Still, you’re wondering about it.”
“I am. There was a woman named Dorothea who used to call the house from time to time. Dad would take the call in his office and close the door. I always wondered what was going on there.”
“You think they got together when he was doing book tours?”
“I don’t know when he would have. I was usually with him.” Regan smiled. “It just always made me curious. It’s sort of intriguing, thinking about your parents having secret lives.”
“Intriguing isn’t exactly the word I’d choose right now.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, I can’t believe I said that.” Regan’s face went scarlet. “I’m so sorry. Of all the thoughtless things to say . . .”
“It’s okay.” Nina smiled in spite of herself. Regan was the last person on earth who’d deliberately try to make anyone feel embarrassed or self-conscious.
“I think I’ll just shut up for a while now.”
“No need. Really,” Nina assured her. “We’ve beaten that horse to within an inch of its life. We’ll deal with whatever’s in the files once we have them. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Let’s talk about the ice cream sundaes right up the road here at Harry’s,” Regan said. “There’s a little art gallery in the back room. Maybe you can find something to brighten up that little office of yours back in New York. At the very least, the hot fudge is homemade, and to die for.”
“You’re on. And while we’re eating, you can tell me more about this shopping outlet mecca I keep seeing advertised on the billboards around here.”
“Rehoboth, Delaware.” Regan smiled knowingly. “Just the right distance for a road trip. How does tomorrow sound?”
“Tomorrow sounds wonderful,” Nina said, relieved to shift the spotlight from herself and her father’s case onto something less dark and serious, something fun.
The way Nina saw it, the next few weeks promised precious few light moments. She might as well smile while she still could.