The Girl With No Name

Chapter Fifty-One

In southeast Denton, a bridge extended over the Susquehanna River leading out of the city and into the mountains. About three quarters of a mile up the hill on the other side of the bridge was Peter Rowland’s house. Everyone knew where Rowland lived both because he was a local legend and because he was the only person in the entire city with a helipad in his front yard. Josie missed his driveway twice as it was purposefully unmarked. Finally, on her third pass, she found it. The driveway was paved, the blacktop pristine. It weaved through dense foliage on both sides. Occasionally, Josie’s headlights illuminated a clearing with a sculpture in it. It had an Alice in Wonderland feeling to it. She knew Rowland was rich, but she hadn’t pegged him for eccentric when they’d met the other day.

As she got closer to the house, LED lanterns sprouted from the ground on either side of the driveway, lighting the way. Finally, there was a large break in the trees. The helipad came into view, a small helicopter sitting unused in the center of it. Beyond that, Rowland’s massive house seemed to pour from the sky onto the ground, each floor jutting out a little more than the last. The walls of the first floor were made almost entirely of glass. She could see into two of the rooms which were lit up, a library and a living room filled with white couches and a white chaise lounge. Peter Rowland sat in the corner of one of the couches, legs crossed, reading a book. He looked up as her headlights swept across the front of the house.

Josie parked and Rowland met her at the door. He smiled uncertainly. “Chief Quinn,” he said. “Is everything okay?”

It was then that Josie realized how foolishly impulsive it had been to come to his home this late. But it was too late now. “Oh yes,” she said. “I just… I needed a quick word with you.”

He stepped out of her way to let her through the door. She moved up a small, open flight of steps and into the room he’d been sitting in. From inside the house, the floor-to-ceiling glass panels were inky-black except for her ghostly reflection. Rowland stepped up behind her and motioned to the windows. “It is glorious in the morning when you can see the trees. There’s a small garden to the left as well.” When Josie didn’t comment he said, “Can I offer you anything?”

Josie turned and smiled at him. “No, thank you.”

He gestured to one of the couches and Josie took a seat. As he sat down on the edge of the chaise lounge across from her, Josie got right to the point. “When Tara called you about putting up reward money for Misty Derossi’s baby, did you know you might be his father?”

The polite smile Rowland had been wearing since she arrived froze in place, looking almost painful. “What’s that?” he said.

“Did you already know that you might be Victor Derossi’s father when you put up the reward money for his safe return? Is that why you offered to help?”

Now his expression morphed into one of confusion. He placed his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “I’m sorry. I think you might have me confused with someone else. I’m not Victor Derossi’s father.”

“But you might be,” Josie said. “There is a fifty-fifty chance you are. You must already know this.”

“Know it? I’ve never met Misty Derossi. How could I have fathered her son?”

“I know about the sperm donation. I’ve got proof.”

Rowland was silent for a long time. He sat back, straightening his spine and peering at her. He looked as if he were making a decision. Finally, he said, “When I was very young, I made a silly decision—a lot of silly decisions, actually—because I was poor and trying to get through college. I was even homeless for a while, did you know that?”

Josie did know it because almost every facet of Peter Rowland’s journey from relative poverty to mega success was a part of Denton’s city lore. “Yes,” she answered. “I’ve heard that.”

“Well, there was a time in my early twenties when I was looking for any way to make a quick buck. So yes, I donated some sperm—I found a place that would pay you to donate. But that was a very long time ago.”

“Your sample still exists,” Josie pointed out.

“Only because someone at the sperm bank screwed up. My sample was supposed to be destroyed many, many years ago. The sperm bank in question typically only keeps samples for seven to twelve years. Twelve is almost unheard of.”

“Yet your sample survived and was mixed up with Misty Derossi’s chosen donor.”

“I’m aware that it hadn’t been destroyed. The sperm bank sent me a letter a month or two ago to let me know. My lawyer has been handling all of this. But we were assured that given the age of my sample, there was no way it would be viable.”

“That’s not what they told Ms. Derossi.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that. I’m sure it was very upsetting to her, but I’m telling you, Victor Derossi is not my child.”

“Then why would you put up $15,000 in reward money for his return?” Josie asked.

He smiled tightly. “I’ve told you. I wanted to give back to the community here.”

“You’re almost single-handedly funding the mayor’s women’s center.”

Rowland sighed again. “Chief Quinn, do you have children?”

Josie shook her head.

“I lost my daughter, Polly, last year.”

“I’m sorry,” Josie said.

“Thank you. You can’t understand what that feels like unless it’s happened to you. I wouldn’t wish that on another parent. When Tara told me about Ms. Derossi’s situation, I felt as though I should help. I happened to be in town. I have the funds. It’s as simple as that.”

Josie didn’t believe him for a second but saw she would get nowhere with that line of questioning, so she changed the subject. “This is a lovely home you have here,” she said.

If he was surprised by the sudden turn, he didn’t let on. “Thank you.”

“Can I use your restroom?”

“Of course,” he said. He gave her directions to a first-floor bathroom. Josie found it, trying to take in as much of the house as she could as she negotiated the hallways. Every room was well-furnished but looked as though it hadn’t been used in years; although the house was clean and opulently decorated, it still felt cavernous and empty. Josie felt as though if she shouted, her echo would return to her. She saw no signs that anyone else was either residing there or staying there. She thought about sneaking up the stairs and having a look at the two upper floors but decided against it. When she returned to the living room, Rowland stood waiting. “Will that be all, Chief Quinn?”

“Yes. I’m sorry to have disturbed you so late.” She waved a hand around them. “You don’t have a security detail?”

He laughed. “No, do I need one?”

“I suppose not. Do you fly your own helicopter?”

“No, I hire a pilot for that.”

“Do you know a man named Leo?”

He gave an impatient sigh. “I know a lot of men, Chief Quinn. No one named Leo springs to mind.”

Behind her, Josie heard footsteps. She turned to look into the hallway but there was no one there. “You have pets?” she asked.

“No. That’s probably my housekeeper, Marie.”

“She works late, doesn’t she?”

“I ask her to stay with me when I’m in town. I know it doesn’t look like it, but I can make quite a mess.”

He moved toward her, ushering her toward the front door. “Listen,” he said as she stepped out into the night. “I’d appreciate if you could keep the information you’ve uncovered to yourself. Victor Derossi is still missing, correct?”

“Yes,” Josie said.

“I wouldn’t want the search for him to become… hampered in any way. If the press gets wind of this whole sperm donor thing, they’ll turn it into a three-ring circus. Let’s keep the focus on finding little Victor, shall we?”

“Of course,” Josie said.

Then the door closed in her face.