“Hey, Jake,” she said, moving aside. “Hec Underhill, do you know Detective Jake Brogan? Jake, this is-”
“We met at Margolin Street, if I’m not mistaken. Hold this for a second, Jane, okay?” Jake gave her his cell and stuck out a hand to shake Hec’s.
Why would he give her his phone? She glanced at the screen. It had gone to black.
“Hec Underhill?”
Jake had not let go of Hec’s hand. And with the other he was bringing out-what?
Underhill tried to pull his hand away. That wasn’t gonna happen.
“Hec Underhill?” Jake said again. He flipped open his handcuffs, snapped the first side over Underhill’s left wrist, then with one motion turned him and clicked the other so Underhill’s hands were cuffed behind his back. His cameras still hung over his chest. “Or should I say-Leonard Perl? You’re under arrest for the murder of Brianna Tillson. We know about Maggie Gunnison. We know about the baby. We know about Finn. And Ricker.”
Which wasn’t exactly 100 percent true, but there was time to find out.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say-”
“I demand a lawyer,” Perl interrupted.
“Brilliant,” Jake said. This explained why Perl had never answered their calls to Florida when they’d tried to contact him. He’d been here in Boston. Killing Brianna Tillson. “And if your lawyer forgets to tell you, I’m pretty sure kidnapping and murder are both life-sentence felonies. After I finish informing you of your rights, feel free to use the phone downtown. Your taxpayer dollars at work.”
Leonard Perl? The landlord? Hec? As Jane worked to put the puzzle pieces together, Jake was finishing his recitation of the Miranda rights. But Perl lived in Florida, didn’t he? Absentee landlord. This was Hec Underhill. The phone? She punched the button. Up popped what looked like a driver’s license photo. Florida DMV. Leonard Perl’s name.
But it was a picture of Hec Underhill.
Holy sh-And what did Jake mean by kidnapping? And Jake said Finn. Did he mean Finn Eberhardt? Before Jake took the guy away-whoever he was-she had a few questions of her own.
“Jake, I bet Hec’s the surveillance guy. Perl, I mean. Right? He didn’t report himself to the police, see? When he got into my apartment? Probably simply turned off the camera or something. He knew I was looking into Callaberry, and Brianna Tillson’s death. He’s the one who called me, Jake! The nasty calls. Hey. Were you in my building last night, too?”
“Lawyer,” Underhill-Perl said. “And just so you know, Miss Hotshot, the Register’s about to lay off a bunch of people. You heard it here first.”
What a skeeve. She handed Jake his phone. Then understood the final puzzle piece. Underhill-or, Perl-knew what kind of car she drove.
“Hec? You took my CAT? Are you kidding me? You’re the guy who handed her to Tuck. And then put her collar in my car.” Total skeeve. “Tuck had left the car open, right?”
“Good luck finding a new job,” Perl said. “And don’t get old. No one hires you if you’re old.”
“Nice guy.” Jake guided Perl toward his cruiser, talking over his shoulder at her. “Call me, Jane. Sorry we had to cut this short.”
“Hey. Wait.” Jane trotted after him, already composing the story in her head. The arrest of Tillson’s killer? A Register freelancer? The paper’s lawyers were going to explode. But she had the headline.
No longer tired, she pulled out her phone, ready to speed-dial Alex and fill him in. So much for her terror of layoffs. This was a big fat story. Who cared how late it was.
“Jake? I need a statement. Did you say ‘kidnapping’? And Maggie Gunnison? From DFS? What’s this all about? Sounds like a huge story.”
“Ah, maybe so. But not written by you, Janey girl.” Jake stuffed Perl into the backseat of his cruiser, slammed the door. Touched her on the nose with one finger. “Because unless he decides to confess, you’ll have to testify at this asshole’s trial.”
“Dispatch, this is Brogan.”
Jake shifted into drive as the radio crackled to life. Perl slouched in the backseat, in the same spot where baby Diane Marie had slept only a few hours before. Perl was more the type. “I am en route with a suspect in custody, per the BOLO on Leonard Perl. You can cancel that BOLO, dispatch, as of…” Jake checked the dashboard readout. “Two-oh-five A.M.”
He needed to call DeLuca. Imagined where he might be. Poor guy wasn’t getting much Kat McMahan time. But he’d want to hear about this. He punched in the speed dial as dispatch responded.
“Copy that, Detective. We’ll make HQ aware.”
“Jake?” DeLuca’s phone voice sounded groggy. “Where are you, for crap’s sake?”
“With Leonard Perl, on the way to HQ,” Jake said. “I’m about to tell him what we know about Maggie Gunnison and baby Diane Marie. Maybe he’ll give up Finn. Before Finn gives him up.”
Jake checked his rearview, gave Perl a cheery wave, hoping he was taking it all in. Whoever Finn was, Jake didn’t say.
“So. D. If you’re not-otherwise occupied-thought you might like to join us downtown.”
71
Jane stared out her living room window, looking through the gray morning light toward the building where she’d been told the surveillance guy lived. The police department’s “camera buff.” Right. Hec Underhill. Leonard Perl. Now-as she’d heard during the arrest-in custody for the murder of Brianna Tillson. A murder he hadn’t wanted Jane to care so much about. Why had he killed her? Jake said-kidnapping?
She’d barely been able to sleep, her brain too full of Perl and Ella and the smell of fire. She’d e-mailed Alex to pitch the story, whatever they could confirm via police protocol, but he hadn’t responded yet. There was plenty of time, especially since her byline couldn’t be on the story. Jake was right about that. The conflict of interest was enormous. Which totally sucked.
Especially if the Register was laying off people. Like Hec-or actually, Perl-had said.
Coda jumped onto the windowsill, getting between her and the view. She scooped her up and carried her down the hall to the study.
Hec-well, Perl-had taken the cat. So disgusting. So brazen. So nice that he was in custody. And so satisfying that she hadn’t been wrong. Jake had texted that Hec-she still thought of him that way-had admitted picking her lock and later rattling her door, just to scare her. The cops owed her big. Girl who cried wolf, my ass. “I don’t think so, cat.”
Coda writhed to the floor, scampered away.
It was easier to think about how right she’d been than about Ella Gavin, now in Mass General’s ICU. Jake would probably inform the Brannigan people about her, but Jane would have to tell Tuck. And Carlyn. Before they heard about it on the news. What would she to say to them, anyway?
She plopped, exhausted, into her swivel chair, then looked for the millionth time at the tattered piece of paper she’d left on her desk, smoothing out the crumples yet again, smelling the remnants of the smoke that clung to it.
A footprint. A baby’s footprint.
Certified by the hospital as an official copy and marked BABY GIRL BEERMAN, this one piece of paper Ella saved from the fire provided the incontrovertible evidence that could reveal Tuck’s identity.
The person whose foot matched this decades-old print was unquestionably Audrey Rose Beerman. Was that Tuck?
The moment Jane told someone about it, the moment Jane set the wheels in motion, two lives-at least-would be forever changed. And there’d be no way to stop it.