Page 62 of Dirty Looks

“You know what our problem is,” I said.

“Yeah,” Jack said, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “Just because he repeatedly raped his granddaughter and sold her for money doesn’t incriminate him for the murder of his other granddaughter. He’s alibied up tight in another state. Which still leaves us with no suspect for Evie Lidle’s murder.”

“Maybe not,” I said. “But maybe Robert Lidle’s habits are the same. Emma is five or six years older than Evie. Maybe he wasn’t able to spend the two years grooming her and decided to sell her anyway. He’s the connector, right? We just need to find out who he’s connected to who fits the bill and who is pure evil.”

“You’d think it would be a short list,” he said. “The older I get the more disappointed I am to find that it’s not.”

We made the rest of the drive mostly in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts. When we pulled up to the Lidle house Martinez was waiting for us. There was a new guard on duty and he hesitated as Jack pulled up to the gate.

“The family wishes privacy during this time,” he said. “No one but immediate family is allowed on the premises.”

“Unfortunately, we’re investigating two murder investigations, so that supersedes the wishes of the family,” Jack said. “You’re going to want to let them know we’re here.”

The guard hesitated again. “I’ll let them know you’d like to speak with them. I can’t promise anything other than that.”

“You’ll let Robert Lidle know that we’ll speak to him here or in an interview room. My patience is up.”

The guard nodded and disappeared inside the guardhouse where we watched him use the phone. The gate opened just a few seconds later and Jack drove through, and then Martinez drove through right after us.

They’d had time to prepare by the time we made our way down the winding road that led to the main house. Jack parked under the covered area, where several other cars were alsoparked. I recognized a couple of them from the day before when we’d visited Everett Lidle.

“Looks like the gang’s all here,” I said.

“Probably for the best,” Jack said. “It seems like a good time to air some dirty laundry.”

“In my experience,” I said, “Family deaths are generally where dirty laundry is aired. I’ve seen some doozies.”

Martinez nodded to us as we got out of the truck, and then all hell broke loose. There was a singular gunshot, and then Jack was on top of me and rolling me behind the protection of his truck.

“Stay down,” he yelled as he got up and moved closer to the front door. His and Martinez’s weapons were both drawn and I could see Martinez out of my periphery coming in from the other side.

There was screaming from inside the house, and I knew I would only be in the way until the scene was assessed and we knew what we were dealing with. I hated knowing that, when my instinct and medical training made me want to rush in and see if there was someone who could be saved.

I stayed crouched down behind the truck wheel, but I could see the front door if I moved ever so slightly as Jack approached. I heard Martinez calling in for backup, but my eyes were for Jack. I hated this part of the job. Knowing he was putting himself in the immediate line of fire.

The house was like a glass castle, and I could see a man running from the opposite end of the house toward the front door. I’d never seen him before. He was older, probably mid-sixties, though he moved with the speed and agility of a younger man. His hair was white and freshly cut, and he wore a black suit.

He pulled open the heavy front door and stared at Jack and Martinez while he visibly pulled himself together.

“Gentlemen,” he said. “It seems we’ve had an accident on the property and are in need of some assistance.”

His accent was British and proper, and I was already rising from my crouch before Jack could summon me. I opened the truck door and grabbed my medical bag and hurried to catch up as they moved inside.

“Who are you?” Jack asked.

“I am Geoffrey Higgins,” he said primly. “Personal secretary to Mr. Lidle.”

“We heard a gunshot,” Jack said, prompting him since Geoffrey seemed to be finding it difficult to speak.

“Yes, sir,” he said. “It seems Mr. Lidle had an accident in his study. I—” He paused and then swallowed. “We all heard the gunshot, and I naturally went to check on him. He was—is—at his desk.”

“Which way is the office?” I asked, not remembering from our last visit.

“Toward the back of the house,” he said, “Past the formal living room and the music room.”

“No one leaves this house,” Jack instructed Martinez. “I want everyone on the premises gathered in one space. No one leaves and no one talks until we talk to them. You,” Jack said, looking at Geoffrey. “You come with us.”

The closer we got to the office the more chaotic it became. Phin and Everett were yelling at each other, and it looked like Everett was trying to get into the office to see his father. Janet was crying against her husband’s chest. Molly stood solemnly to the side, her hands wringing a dishcloth in her hands.

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