She smiled. "I'll leave a light on."
Andrea opened the truck door. As she got out, snow shook off the roof and dusted her blonde hair with flakes of white. She blew him a kiss, slammed the door shut, and ran to her own car. He watched her climb inside, then saw a match flare as she lit a cigarette. Her car started up on the first try. She waved as she pulled away.
Stride drove home, navigating the empty, slippery streets with less care than they demanded. Twice he lingered at a stoplight, motionless while it turned green, his eyes vacantly staring out of the streaked windows. The windshield wipers squeaked in a determined rhythm that hypnotized him.
I knew all about it.
He thought again about Nancy Carver and tried to quell his anger. She could have confirmed their suspicions weeks ago. Maybe there would have been something more they could have done. They would have been so much closer.
What if Emily Stoner had died, not knowing? Then again, he wondered if Emily had suspected all along.
There were times when it felt like a game, a puzzle they had to solve. And there were times when he hated knowing everything he did about the dark side of the human heart.
Stride crossed the bridge leading onto the Point. He drove two blocks to his home and pulled into the driveway. Maggie's car was parked on the street. He saw a light inside the house and guessed she was waiting for him. It saved him a phone call. He was going to need her tonight, and they had a long evening ahead of them at city hall.
He let himself into the house.
Maggie was in his kitchen, her feet propped up on a chair. She was eating a grilled cheese sandwich and reading the newspaper.
"You didn't answer your goddamn phone," she told him pleasantly.
"The battery's dead. Sorry about that."
"I've been waiting here for over an hour."
"Lucky for you I came home alone," he said. He wondered how he was going to break it to Maggie that she would need to be a little more cautious about using his house as a second home. He didn't think Andrea would understand their relationship.
He looked at her skirt, which was bunched up almost to her waist. "You look hot."
"I'm freezing," she said. "And it's your fault."
"Well, it was worth it if you got anything out of the boys."
Maggie smiled. "Nothing from the boys. But it turns out we were heading in the right direction all along. Family first."
Stride sat down opposite Maggie. "Graeme?"
She nodded. "Sally gave him up. Turns out Graeme took her on a little field trip to the barn last summer."
"Was she raped?"
"No, they were interrupted. But she thought that's where things were going."
"There's more," Stride told her. "How's this? Rachel told Nancy Carver she was sleeping with Graeme. She said it happened a few times, and then she cut it off, but Graeme wanted more."
Maggie's eyebrows shot skyward. "No shit? Do you think Emily suspects?"
"I'll bet she does, but she won't admit it to herself."
"Graeme's a cool customer," Maggie said. "Everything about him came up clean, right down to the polygraph. He's going to be hard to nail."
"Yeah, but him and Emily? No way. I think he was after Rachel from the beginning. And Rachel probably thought that fucking Graeme would be the perfect punishment for her mother. These two were made for each other."
"Except how do we prove it?" Maggie asked.
"We've got Carver's story. That's a start."
"It's hearsay," Maggie said. "We'll never get it in."
Stride nodded. "I know. But it'll get us a warrant."
17
Stride swore his team to silence as they prepared for the search, but it didn't help. As a battery of police cars pulled up outside the Stoner house, Bird Finch took to the airwaves, painting Graeme Stoner as a Jekyll-and-Hyde who had seduced his teenage stepdaughter and then killed her. Stride heard it on the radio and turned off the news in disgust.
Maggie, seated next to him, shook her head. "How the hell did he do that? No one knows about this."
Stride shrugged. "Let's go," he told her.
They headed up the long walkway to the front door of the Stoner house with a swarm of uniformed officers. Stride gestured to one of the cops, pulling him closer.
"The word is out," he said. "You can expect the press to begin descending on this place in droves. I don't want them anywhere near here, okay? Tape it off, and keep them away. No curious neighbors, either."
The officer nodded and retreated to one of the squad cars, motioning for three other policemen to join him.
Stride whispered to Maggie. "Let's keep a close eye on the search, okay, Mags? I want everything by the book and witnessed. No screwups. If we end up charging this guy, he's already got Archie Gale in his corner, and you can bet everything we do is going to be second-guessed."
"Signed, sealed, and delivered," Maggie said. "Count on it, boss."
Stride didn't need to ring the doorbell. As he climbed the steps, Graeme Stoner swung the door open. Stride could see icy fury in the man's eyes.
"Hello, Lieutenant," Graeme said. "I see you've brought a few of your friends with you."
"Mr. Stoner, we have a valid warrant to search these premises for any evidence related to the disappearance and possible murder of Rachel Deese."
"So I gathered. And is it ordinary police practice to engage in character assassination before you have any evidence? My phone is already starting to ring, thanks to Bird Finch's little report a few minutes ago. I called Kyle personally to complain."
Stride shrugged. Graeme's contacts at city hall weren't going to help him now. "I'll stay with you while my officers conduct the search."
Graeme turned on his heel and retreated through the living room without looking behind him. Stride followed him, and Maggie gathered the officers in the foyer, issuing instructions. Guppo would lead the team in the basement, she would handle the rooms upstairs, and they would do the first floor and the exterior and vehicles last.
"By the book," she told them, reiterating Stride's warning. "Stay in pairs at all times. Find it, photograph it, bag it, label it. You got all that?"
The sturdy police officers, all of them a foot and a half taller than the tiny Asian detective, nodded meekly and set about the search. Their footsteps sounded like thunder as they took different paths up and down the steps.
On the porch, Stride felt the chill in the room, emanating from the two people he found there. Emily Stoner sat where she had been when he first met her, in a recliner by the fireplace. She looked frail, her skin drained of color. Her body had shrunk, and her skin seemed to hang loosely on her frame. Her hair fell limply across her face. She was years older than she had been just a few weeks ago.
Emily didn't move and didn't say anything, but her eyes followed Graeme as he sat down in the recliner opposite her. Stride had always sensed tension between them, but this was different. Emily had heard the news along with everyone else. Stride knew what she was thinking-that the man sitting calmly a few inches away, who had shared her bed for five years, might be a monster.
It was Graeme's demeanor that surprised him.
Stride had dealt with criminals many times in the first moments after the truth came out. Most made angry protestations of innocence, denying the obvious. Others crumbled and confessed, releasing the burden of guilt that had been weighing on their souls. But he had never seen anyone look as calm and confident as Graeme Stoner. The man was furious but utterly controlled, and he still had a look of detached amusement, as if this whole process were nothing but a sideshow attraction.
Stride didn't know how to read him. He usually believed he could tell a man's guilt or innocence by watching for the truth written in his eyes and face. Graeme was a mask.