You Must Remember This Part 3. Marilyn Pappano
we go over the reports over lunch? Then we won’t have to do it tonight.”
Maybe that was the most desirable answer. She put the file away, exited the computer program and took her purse from a drawer before leading the way outside to her car.
They picked up burgers and fries from a drive-through, then went to Vanderbilt Park. With an old quilt from the back of her car, they found a sunny place that looked on distant mountains and settled in. While Martin unpacked the food, she smoothed the papers he’d pulled from his pocket. “Why did you get a report on Maxwell Brown? Isn’t he just a local businessman?”
He handed her a cheeseburger before unwrapping his own. “Monday night, after the dream, I was afraid to go back to sleep, so I went for a walk. I do that a lot. Brown was in his office downtown having a meeting with some guy. There were two other men waiting for them out in the alley. I’d been watching them for about ten minutes when Brown and the other guy came out. The three men got in their car and drove away, and Brown left in his own car.”
“What time was this?”
“Around 3:00 a.m. It gave me a funny feeling in the back of my neck. It just didn’t feel right.” He paused to take a few bites, washing them down with soda. “The next day I saw Brown and Hal having lunch together. Hal was not in a good mood.”
“So you think that not all of Maxwell Brown’s business is legitimate and that Hal might possibly be involved with him.”
“I don’t know. I just thought that getting his records was too good a chance to pass up.”
When they finished eating, she moved closer to him, and they studied the papers together. Hal’s risk score wasn’t very good. His credit cards—and there were plenty—carried high balances, and he was frequently late with his payments on everything from his car to his condo to his utilities. The sixty-six thousand dollars Olivia’s life insurance had paid would have made a good dent in his debt, but he still would have been up to his ears in it. Hell, maybe that was where he’d spent it and he still owed this much.
Maxwell Brown was a different story. His credit rating was perfect: reasonable balances, sensible debt and regular, on-time payments. There was no mortgage for a house or cars, which meant he must own those outright.
“So does that satisfy your curiosity about Brown?”
“It should.” Financially the man was as upstanding as they came. But that funny feeling was there again. If Martin knew only one thing for a fact, it was that he could trust that feeling.
“But it doesn’t. All right. Tomorrow why don’t you go by the courthouse and find out everything you can about him? I’ll check online and at the library.” She folded the papers, offered them to him, then slipped them inside her purse when he refused. “Grand Springs is such a pretty place,” she remarked with a look around. “It’s no surprise that Olivia loved it.”
“Coming here was a big deal for you.” Leaving her home, her family and friends, the only place she’d ever known, for someplace strange and new took courage that she probably hadn’t realized she possessed. “I hope you never regret it.”
“I never will. No matter what.”
He didn’t like the ominous undertones his mind supplied to her last words. Even after last night, she wasn’t convinced that there was no one in his past who could take him away from her. Truthfully, she was right to have doubts. There was the very strong possibility that someone in his past could separate them, though not another woman. The man he had been before the accident, the man who had killed, the man who knew too well how to live in the shadows—that man could come between them. He was his own biggest worry.
She withdrew a paper from her bag, then settled again even closer. “After talking with Stone this morning, I sent this out.”
He recognized the printout as being an NCIC entry—but how did he know that? It listed his name as John Doe, gave a physical description, including details on the scars, and asked each agency to check its records on shooting victims for the last six years.
“He says it could take a long time to get an answer, but unless you were shot outside the country, the chances of hearing something are pretty good.”
The suggestion that he might not have been in the country when the shootings occurred didn’t feel as foreign as it should. Had he traveled overseas often? Had he lived there? Maybe. It could explain why no missing persons report had ever been filed. It could also explain his fluency in Spanish.
After a time, they shook out the quilt and returned to the car. Juliet dropped him off at the church, drove the short distance to the library and went inside. Instead of going to her office, though, she headed for the reference section. She found an out-of-the-way computer and sat down, pulling up the files she needed.
The information available on Maxwell Brown was huge. There was coverage of business triumphs and charitable contributions. There was a wedding announcement, detailing a lavish wedding and featuring a picture of a handsome young man with a beautiful young bride. A few years later, there was a one-line mention of a divorce in the legal news column. He received honors and tributes by the handfuls and was active on Grand Springs’s social scene, though rarely with the same woman on his arm twice. His generosity apparently was exceeded only by his business acumen. His home, the site of charity balls and civic events, was nothing less than a mansion. He gave freely of his money and his time, the townspeople admired and respected him, children adored him, and he was kind to small animals.
He was almost too good to be true.
If Martin’s suspicions were correct, he was too good to be true.
There was much less to find on Hal Stuart, much less stellar. Most of the mentions of him dealt with city council business. There was an announcement of his engagement to Randi Howell, the bride who’d fled her own wedding and fallen in love with someone else. An older story covered his graduation from law school and setting up practice in Grand Springs, and there were mentions of his election and subsequent reelections to the council. There was nothing new or interesting.
With a sigh, she left the library and made the short trip to the police station. There was nothing more she could do for Martin. Now she needed to concentrate on her own work. Even if it was nearly impossible. Even if the hours did drag until the afternoon was finally over. With more relief than she would have believed possible, she shut down the computer, said goodbye to Mariellen and headed for the church.
She hadn’t offered to pick Martin up after work, and he might have already left, but it was only a few blocks out of her way. When she parked at the curb out front, she saw that she wasn’t too late. Several people were inside talking, and one was Martin.
The sidewalk led straight to the porch, where the double glass doors were propped open. She stepped into the hallway and hesitated until one of the men saw her and smiled. Martin turned and smiled, too, and held out his hand to her. He introduced her to the group—the Reverend Murphy and three of his parishioners, two older women and a man.
After a polite hello, one of the women continued talking. “Now, you see here in this picture, the carpet is definitely burgundy—and pretty new, too. This was taken thirty-three years ago at our oldest daughter’s wedding.” She beamed at Juliet. “She’s still married to the same man, and they have four children and three grandchildren. Now, this picture is of Emma’s grandson’s wedding, and it’s this same green carpet, and pretty new, too. This was taken—” She looked at the back, squinted to read the writing, then looked at the woman beside her. “When, Emma?”
“That was December. December 17, a Christmas wedding. His mother had always wanted a June wedding—”
“Of what year, dear?”
“Let me think. Their oldest boy just turned eighteen this month, so that means they’ve been married…” Emma’s fragile skin flushed a delicate pink. “Eighteen and a half years.”
No one blinked at the discomfort her grandson’s marriage-of-necessity still caused