A commotion near the front doors halted their conversation and a silver-haired man in khaki shorts came striding into the precinct. “Where’s my daughter? Who’s in charge here?”
“Mr. Lockhart?” Conroy asked.
“I’m Martin Lockhart, yes. Where is Chloe?”
“That’s what we’re trying to determine, sir. It would help us if you could—”
“Where’s Margery? Margery was supposed to be watching her.”
“We’re interviewing Mrs. Brimwood now, sir.”
“I want to talk to her. She’s paid fifty thousand dollars a year to watch one little girl. How the hell does something like this happen?”
“Martin, let’s hear what he has to say, okay?” Another man, slightly younger, with black shorts and expensive running shoes, stepped forward to put his hand on Lockhart’s shoulder. He flashed a set of white veneers at the officers. “We all want the same thing here.”
“I didn’t get your name,” Conroy said.
“Stephen Wintour.”
“He’s my attorney,” Lockhart said, and Reed and Ellery exchanged a look that asked what kind of father stops to bring a lawyer along when his daughter’s gone missing. Lockhart must have sensed the question in the awkward pause. “Stephen was also my golf partner for the afternoon. He was with me when I got the call.”
“I’ve known Chloe almost since birth,” Wintour added. “Anything I can do to help, just let me know.”
“Jeffries, could you show them to interview room two, please? I’ll be right with you.” As Lockhart and Wintour were led away, Conroy turned to Reed. “Look, it isn’t every day we get the FBI to weigh in without going through the official rigmarole. Would you mind taking a listen while I talk to this guy and giving us your opinion?”
“Of course not.”
Boston’s setup was old enough that they still utilized a one-way mirror. Reed stood with Ellery outside the interview room while Conroy sat with Lockhart and his buddy at a metal table that had been bolted to the floor. Conroy had a legal pad on which to take notes, and Reed was intrigued to see the lawyer pull out a pad of his own. Conroy had an officer round them up bottles of water, and while this was happening Reed looked to Ellery.
“Your captain doesn’t know about us,” he murmured.
Her lips curled in an ironic smile, but she did not look at him. “The whole world knows about us, Agent Markham. I think the USA channel just ran a new movie last week.”
“I don’t mean the Coben case.”
He waited. “Do you always tell your boss who you’re sleeping with?” she asked.
“I think all my trips up to Boston speak for themselves on that point.” He’d made the journey at least once a month, but Ellery had yet to come stay with him in Virginia since they had consummated their relationship. He’d envisioned her at his family holidays or playing board games at the kitchen table with Tula. He wanted to play the piano for her and show her around D.C. He’d even sent her links to a dog park near his condo. Bring the hound, he’d texted her. He can size up the local squirrel population. Ellery always demurred: Maybe someday. As the months flew past and he lived his half of their relationship out of a roller bag, Reed felt more keenly the pieces of himself he left behind to be with her and wondered whether Ellery would ever want to see them.
“You don’t need to stay here on my account,” she said steadily, her gaze fixed on the men inside the interview room.
“At the moment, I’m here for Chloe.” He leaned over and turned up the volume to hear the conversation more clearly.
“How old is Chloe?” Conroy was asking, even though they knew the answer to this. Reed approved of the technique: when facing a distraught or combative witness, start with easy questions with concrete answers.
“She’ll be thirteen in two weeks. The end of August.” Lockhart swallowed visibly. “The day she came into the world was the happiest of my life.”
“I feel the same way about my kids,” Conroy replied. “What about Chloe—any brothers or sisters?”
An odd pause. “No, it’s just Chloe. Her mother and I had her later in life.”
“I see. Where does Chloe go to school?”
He looked confused. “It’s summer. School’s out.”
“But when it resumes, where will she go?” He named a school Reed was not familiar with and indicated Chloe would be starting eighth grade in the fall. “A tough age,” Conroy allowed. “Kids want more independence, start keeping some parts of their life secret.”
“Not Chloe.”
Ellery gave a small snort of disbelief. At thirteen, Reed knew, she’d been roaming the streets of Chicago, begging for pocket change. Reed thought of Tula singing to herself, legs swinging under the table as she colored a rainbow pony, and he feared for his future. “Did you ever think about running away?” he asked Ellery.
She folded her arms. “Every damn day of my life.”
Inside, Conroy marched Lockhart through a series of questions that did not help Reed feel more comfortable in his role as an absentee father. Who were Chloe’s friends? Not sure. Maybe he’s heard the name Jenna a few times. What were her favorite stores to shop in? “Ask Margery. She knows.” The name of Chloe’s doctor? They would like access to her medical records, if permitted. Teresa makes those appointments, not him. With obvious pride, Chloe’s father could name his daughter’s accomplishments—first place in a piano concerto competition, straight A’s, a talented forward on her soccer team—but he had no idea what her typical day was like.
“I don’t get home until almost eight. Her mother sometimes much later. Chloe is often in bed by then and we don’t want to disturb her. Children need sleep, right?” He seemed to be looking to Conroy for validation, and Conroy gave it.
“My teenagers couldn’t get enough of it, but they wanted to do it all in the daylight hours. They’d sleep past noon if we let ’em. Chloe’s not a night owl?”
Martin seemed to be searching for answers. “She has a television in her room. Video games. Sometimes I see the light flickering under her door at night. I’m sorry, I don’t see what these questions have to do with finding my daughter.”
“We have every available officer out looking for her.”
“How many abducted-kid cases have you worked?” Ellery asked Reed, still not looking at him.
Inside the room, Lockhart had his head in his hands. “Twenty-four.” Reed didn’t have to do the math. The children he always remembered.
She nodded to herself. “How many did you bring home?”
He hesitated. “Nineteen.” A high average, but the gap gnawed at him on the nights when his own sleep proved elusive.
“Alive?”
He didn’t want to say. Not to her.
Ellery persisted, turning and pinning him with her stare. “How many came back alive?”
He hesitated another beat. “Three.”
Ellery turned around again, her mouth set in a grim line. “I know this is difficult,” Conroy was saying. “We’re just trying to cover every angle. Is there anyone at all you can think of who might have wanted to hurt Chloe?”