“You someplace secure?” DeLuca said.
“Not exactly.” Jake’s eyebrows raised. “Stand by one, D.”
Jane pointed to herself, then to the front door. She mouthed the words, I’ll go in.
Hell, no, Jake mouthed back. He grabbed her wrist. Letting go, he put a finger to his lips, signaling her to keep quiet.
“Go ahead, D,” he said into the radio.
“You know that search warrant you asked for? For Patti Vick’s studio?”
Patti Vick? Jane leaned in, eyes widening. They’d searched Arthur Vick’s wife’s studio? Jane knew from her stories it was in one of the Fort Point buildings. Near where Kenna was found. She struggled to make sense of it. Was Arthur Vick connected to Kenna Wilkes, too?
“Why did-?” she whispered.
Jake glared at her, warning her to keep quiet. “Copy that.”
“You have the address?”
“Ten-four.”
“Then you better get over here.”
53
“She threatened me,” Matt said. Standing in the alley, he held out both hands to his sister, pleading his case. Trying to make her understand. The October sun barely filtered through the narrow space between buildings. Cissy must be freezing in that thin sweater. She was calling herself Kenna Wilkes, she’d said, but she was Cissy Galbraith to him.
He told his sister, fast as he could, about Holly, and B-school, and what he’d revealed to her, and what happened after he saw Holly’s photo in the paper. “She was going to ruin my life. And yours, too, Cissy. And, most important, our father’s life.”
“So you killed her? Are you crazy?” Cissy ignored his explanations, frowning with disbelief. She put her hands on top of her head, took a few steps away from him, farther down the alley, then turned back, hands outstretched. “Please tell me it was an accident. We can go to the police. We can tell them you snapped, or she threatened you, or she tripped, or she-”
“Yes, yes, of course it was an accident.” She has to understand. “I didn’t mean to. I hadn’t planned to. I only wanted to stop her. She was sabotaging our father’s campaign. She was going to ruin him, make it look like he was having an affair with her. And I couldn’t have that happen. I couldn’t!”
“You idiot,” Cissy said.
Her head was shaking back and forth, like their mother’s used to whenever she was upset. He hated that. He wished she would stop it. He wished she would listen to him. “Cissy, that’s not all.”
“Oh, dear god, what else?” Cissy looked at her watch. “I’ve got to get back inside. They’ll be freaking, wondering where I am. And I have my own-ah. So what, Matt, what now?”
“She told a reporter. Jane Ryland, at the newspaper. Mailed her a bunch of stuff, incriminating-looking stuff, about Holly and our father. Holly has photos. Of the two of them together. And now Jane Ryland has them.”
“Holly Neff? And Owen Lassiter?” Cissy’s forehead furrowed, as if she were deciphering a secret code. “Jane Ryland?”
“Yes, and so you’ve got to be ready. Any time now, this Jane Ryland could show up at Lassiter headquarters. When she does, it means all hell’s about to break loose. We have to stop it.”
“Holly Neff? And Owen Lassiter?” Cissy said the names again, deliberately, syllable by syllable, like she couldn’t quite make them compute.
Matt raised his hands, frustrated. Doesn’t she get it? “The pictures aren’t real, you know? They never really-I mean, he didn’t even know her. Let alone have a torrid affair with her. But she said the media would buy it all, instantly, and wouldn’t get to the real truth until it was too late. And she’s right, you know? The more he denied it, the more they wouldn’t believe it. The headlines and speculation alone would- What?” Matt stopped, midsentence, baffled. Cissy was suddenly smiling. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
He saw his sister take a deep breath, then look up through the narrow band of still-blue sky. “Let’s go inside,” she said. “It’s cold out here.”
“So you have to leave? Right now?” Jane stamped a foot, annoyed. Bad enough to have to take Jake with her as she revealed the identity of the city’s newest murder victim and political paramour. Now Jake wanted her to wait?
“See?” She patted her tote bag. “Now my phone’s ringing. But am I answering it? No. So I don’t see why you-”
“Search warrant. I’ve got to be there. There’s no way I can-”
“Oh, no, Jakey, we’re doing this,” Jane insisted. Her phone stopped ringing. Good. “And then you can go do your search warrant thing. In fact, I might go with you. Arthur Vick won’t get any less guilty if we wait fifteen minutes. Then I can go write my page-one, blockbuster-headlined, Channel-Eleven-can-eat-my-dust career-making story, and you can go catch the bad guy. Okay?”
“Sorry, Janey, there’s no choice.” Jake zipped up his leather jacket.
Jane retied the black wool belt of her coat, girding for battle, and poked a finger against Jake’s chest. “Jacob Dellacort Brogan. Listen to me. You and I are going in. Now. We’re going to prove Kenna Wilkes is the victim, and, soon, we’re going to find out why she was killed. Big, big, big news. Whatever your guys found in that studio can just-”
She stopped, mouth open. Two people were walking around the corner, coming out of that little alley between the buildings. Even half a block away, she recognized one of them. That guy from the press conference. Matt. What was he doing here?
The other was a knockout blonde. She’d obviously spent a bundle on boots and hair-care products, but she clearly needed a coat.
Jake stepped aside to let them pass, turning away as his phone trilled. He raised a finger, back in a second.
The Matt person stopped in his tracks, staring at Jane. “Jane Ryland? From the newspaper?” he asked. He gave the woman beside him a look Jane couldn’t translate. The blonde took his arm, tucking herself behind him.
“Well, yes, we met this morning at the news conference, didn’t we?” This was all Jane needed. She cut to the chase, let’s get this over with. “You were going to call me, right? But you didn’t, right?”
“Is he with the newspaper, too?” Matt waved a hand toward Jake, who was leaning against the building, back to them, away from them, still focused on his phone call.
“No.” Jane stepped in front of him, blocking the view. End of chitchat. “He’s a friend.”
“Matt was just leaving.” The blonde smiled, waving Matt away. “Weren’t you?”
As Matt headed down the sidewalk, the woman took a step forward, holding out a hand to Jane. “I’ve heard so much about you,” she went on. “I’m such a big fan of yours. It’s lovely to finally meet you.”
Jake returned to Jane’s side, joining them.
Jane smiled, acknowledging the woman’s attention, shook her hand. Always good to have a fan. “Jane Ryland,” she said.
“Oh, of course I know that,” the blonde said. “And I’m Kenna Wilkes.”
54
Jane stared at the woman. She’d never seen this person in her life. Not at the Springfield rally. Not at the Esplanade event. Not in Archive Gus’s photos. How could she have gotten this wrong?
She put out a hand, touching the thick glass of the headquarters window, grounding herself.
“You’re-?” Jane’s voice was out of order. Not working. There’s an explanation.
“Kenna Wilkes?” Jake finished her question.
“But I thought-” Jane’s brain struggled to remember. The hotel clerk had shown her the name on the computer screen, clearly, unmistakably. Kenna Wilkes. She was registered there. Jane had talked to her, taken her photo, for gosh sake, and the woman-not Kenna?-had answered to that name. Hadn’t she?