The Secret Friend

Standing inside the foyer, dressed in a pin-striped suit without a tie, was a tall man with a thick head of grey hair and a strong, handsome face pale with grief – Jonathan Hale. Darby recognized him immediately from the press conferences on TV.

Hale looked and carried himself like an old blue blood, only the image wasn't accurate. He had dropped out of Harvard during his sophomore year to build computers out of his parents' garage in Medford. Eight years later, he sold his mail-order computer company to a competitor and used the proceeds to buy residential property in Boston's highly desirable Back Bay.

With the income generated from his rental properties, he created a successful start-up business that developed financial software for investment firms. During the height of the dot-com craze, Hale sold the company for a staggering amount of money which he invested in commercial real-estate opportunities in Massachusetts. The man was Boston's version of Donald Trump, minus the bad hair, trophy wife and megalomaniac desire for self-promotion. According to the papers, Hale, who had never remarried following the death of his wife, was a huge contributor to a number of Catholic charities.

Bryson did the introductions.

'Maria is preparing lunch,' Hale said. His voice was raspy, tired, the words slightly slurred. 'Would either of you like something to eat or drink?'

'That's very kind of you, but we don't want to take up your time,' Bryson said. 'Is there a place where we can talk privately?'

Hale suggested his office.

Darby trailed behind the men, taking in the home with its vaulted ceilings and artful lighting. Japanese antiques were prominently displayed on walls and stands. Inside a restaurant-sized kitchen, an older Hispanic woman was busy working at the stove.

Jonathan Hale slowed his pace and looked over his shoulder at Darby. 'McCormick… You're the one who caught that killer that was all over the news.'

'Traveler,' Darby said.

'It's Dr McCormick now, isn't it?'

'Keeping tabs on me, Mr Hale?'

'It's rather difficult not to, young lady. You've become somewhat of a media sensation.'

Unfortunately, he was right. The Traveler case, the focus of national TV programmes like Dateline and 60 Minutes, now lived in perpetuity on cable shows such as Forensic Files, Court TV and A amp;E's Notorious. Darby had never given an interview but, because of her connection to Traveler, her name was constantly mentioned in the pieces along with pictures taken by photographers hiding in bushes or their cars. Her movements were even the focus of the 'Inside Track', a gossip column published by the Boston Herald.

Hale's office was spacious and bright, with bookcases and leather armchairs straight out of the Harvard Club. A fire was going. The warm room smelled of woodsmoke and cigars. Hale waited until they were seated.

'I talked with Mr Marsh this morning,' Hale said, stubbing out his cigar. 'He gave me the description of this man. Do you know who he is?'

Bryson took the lead. Darby wanted to take a back seat and observe.

'We don't,' Bryson said. 'What about you? Do you know this man?'

Hale appeared puzzled. 'Are you suggesting that I know the man who broke into my daughter's house?'

'It's just a routine question, Mr Hale.'

'No. I don't know who he is.'

'Have you ever seen a man matching the description?'

'No.' Hale picked up a highball glass containing what appeared to be bourbon. 'What was he doing there?'

'We're investigating several leads. Have you -'

'Detective Bryson, when I spoke to you this morning, you said it appears someone broke into my daughter's home. Did this person break into Emma's home or not?'

'We found no sign of forced entry on the door. We're wondering if the man had a key. How many people besides yourself have access to your daughter's place?'

'I have a key, as does Mr Marsh.'

'Have you made any other copies?'

'No.'

'Have you given your keys to anyone?'

'No, I haven't. I don't want anyone inside Emma's place.'

'Then why did you give Mr Marsh a key?'

'He has keys to every unit. He's the building's security administrator. He needs a key in case there's a problem.'

'Does Mr Marsh know Emma's alarm code?'

'I would assume so. He has access to the building's security system. The computer lists the alarm code for each unit. Emma's alarm has been turned off since her… abduction. I had it turned off, at your request, when you had people coming in and out.'

'Why haven't you turned it back on?'

'To be honest, I haven't really thought about it.' Hale finished his drink. 'Pardon me for saying this, detective, but I have the feeling this is turning into some sort of interrogation.'

'I apologize,' Bryson said. 'I'm trying to understand, as I'm sure you are, what this person was doing inside your daughter's home.'

Hale shifted his attention to Darby. 'I understand you spoke with this person.'

Darby nodded.

Hale waited for her to speak. When she didn't, he said, 'Are you going to tell me what he said? Or are you going to keep me in the dark?'

20

Tim Bryson answered the question. 'It's part of our investigation.'

Hale's gaze never left Darby. 'Why did you want access to my daughter's home, Dr McCormick?'

'I've recently been assigned to your daughter's case,' Darby said. 'I wanted to get a feel for her, to try and get to know her.'

'Mr Marsh paged my answering service. When I spoke to my assistant, she said you were rather adamant in wanting to get inside Emma's place. There was talk of a court order.'

'I wanted to investigate a new lead.'

'Which is?'

'It's part of our ongoing investigation.'

'See, this is the problem I have with you people.' Hale's tone remained courteous. 'Every time you come here you expect me to answer your questions but you refuse to answer any of mine. Take this religious statue you found inside my daughter's pocket. I've asked you what it is and you won't tell me. Why?'

'I don't blame you for your frustration, but we need -'

'My daughter's home was released back to me. I allowed you access. I think I have a right to know why.'

'We're not the enemy, Mr Hale. We're after the same goal.'

Hale went to take another sip of his drink, realized the glass was empty and looked around for the bottle.

'I noticed that you haven't cleaned out any of Emma's things,' Darby said.

Hale put the glass down on the table, leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs.

'It's rather difficult to explain,' he said after a moment. He cleared his throat several times as he brushed lint off his pants. 'Emma's house, the way she left things… it's all I have left of her. I know this is going to sound irrational, but when I'm in there, looking at her things, the way she left them, I feel… I can still feel her. It's like she's still alive.'

Bryson said, 'When was the last time you were inside Emma's place?'

'Last week,' Hale said, standing.

'Have you hired a private investigator to look into your daughter's death?'

'I wouldn't call him that.' Hale walked to the corner of the room, picked up a bottle of Maker's Mark bourbon from the small bar and refilled his glass. 'Dr Karim is a forensic consultant.'

'Ali Karim?' Darby asked.

'Yes,' Hale said as he sat back in the chair. 'Do you know him?'

She knew the name. Ali Karim, a former pathologist for the city of New York and, without a doubt, one of the best in the field, now ran his own consulting firm. Karim had been hired as an expert witness on a number of prominent criminal cases, most of which were in the media. He had written several bestselling books and was a staple on the talk-show circuit.

'Why did you hire Dr Karim?' Darby asked.

'I wanted someone to tell me the truth,' Hale said.

'I don't understand.'

'My daughter was shot in the back of the head with a twenty-two calibre weapon. Detective Bryson told me she died instantly. That's not exactly true. The way the bullet entered her skull, Emma was alive for several minutes. My daughter suffered. Horribly.'