The Zero Night

14

Reporters were gathered outside Gavin Webster’s house when Stride arrived. It was almost noon, and the TV journalists were getting ready to go on the air for the midday news. He squeezed through them without answering questions or making a statement. But he noticed that the tenor of the questions had changed from the previous day, when the kidnapping was first announced to the press. Yesterday they were asking whether the police had any hope of finding Chelsey Webster alive.

Today they were asking whether her husband was a suspect in her disappearance.

Stride walked up the driveway and knocked on the lower-level door. The lawyer answered a few seconds later with a mug of coffee in one hand. As he invited Stride inside, he looked at the reporters clustered at the end of the driveway.

“I see the vultures are out in force,” Gavin said.

“Yes, they are.”

“Do you think I should talk to them? Make a personal plea to the kidnappers?”

“That’s up to you,” Stride replied, “but I don’t think kidnappers tend to be swayed by sentiment.”

Gavin stroked his unshaved chin and shook his head. “Unfortunately, I agree with you. Plus, whenever I see a victim make a public plea, I usually say to myself, ‘Yeah, he did it.’”

Stride made no comment.

“Apparently you think so, too,” Gavin added.

He led him upstairs to the main level of the house. Stride noted the front door, which still showed the aftereffects of the break-in. He followed Gavin to the rear of the house, where an open-air deck looked down the hillside toward the lake. The clouds and rain of the previous day had given way to cool sunshine. The view was magnificent, the city buildings sharp and clear, the blue lake water glinting. They both sat in wicker chairs, and Gavin shifted his chair so he was facing Stride directly. His curly hair was messy, and he wore a dirty sweatshirt and sweatpants. His blue eyes were tired and red, his face pale.

“I honestly didn’t expect you to be the one grilling me, Stride. I thought you were done with this.”

“We’re shorthanded. I’m helping out.”

“Well, I’m glad to have you involved in finding Chelsey. You’re the A team, as far as I’m concerned. Plus, you and I go back a long way.”

That was true.

Stride had worked with Gavin Webster since the man’s early days in criminal defense law, and they’d been on opposite sides of interview tables and courtroom witness boxes several times. Maggie disliked all defense lawyers, but Stride viewed them as one of the cogs in the machine that made the system work. He expected them to exploit any loophole that would advantage their clients, and to Stride, that just made him work harder. He’d actually had more ethical troubles with prosecutors over the years than he’d ever had with defense lawyers.

On the other hand, he didn’t know Gavin outside of the man’s work. Some lawyers made a point of building personal relationships with the police, figuring that would help their clients when they needed a rule bent or a misdemeanor overlooked. Not Gavin. He was smart, committed, and hardworking, but he was also an enigma, hiding his personality behind those strange blue eyes. Over the years, he’d shared almost nothing about his private life or his family. Stride hadn’t even known that he was married until he heard about the abduction. It was difficult to trust someone who was a stranger.

“So what can you tell me about the search for Chelsey?” Gavin asked.

“The tip line has been up and running for more than twenty-four hours, and we’re getting dozens of calls. So far, nothing has panned out, but everyone’s on overtime pursuing leads.”

“I hear you’re talking to my clients. I can’t say I like that.”

“Crimes like this typically don’t involve random victims. You were targeted. That means the likeliest suspect pool is people who know you.”

“I understand that,” Gavin replied, “but just because I’m the victim, don’t think I won’t come down hard on the police if you harass my clients. I’m still their lawyer. So tread lightly.”

“No one’s being harassed. We’re just asking questions.”

Gavin gave a cynical grunt, then reached for his coffee. He glanced up at the blue sky, noting a helicopter flying low along the lakeshore. “I’ve been seeing a lot of helicopters yesterday and today.”

“Yes, they’re part of the search,” Stride replied.

“Search,” Gavin said, curling his lip at the word. “You mean they’re searching for a body. Follow the lakeshore and the banks of the river. See if a corpse washes up. I know the protocol, Stride. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Stride wasn’t going to lie to him, because Gavin was right. “Have you had any further contact from the kidnappers?”

“No. Do you have any suspects?”

“Not yet.”

“Except me,” Gavin said.

Stride shrugged. “You’re not a suspect, Gavin, but we do have questions. That’s one of the reasons I’m here.”

“Naturally.” He got up and went to the railing with his coffee. His sweatshirt fit loosely, which made him look even skinnier than he was. “One of my clients called and said she’d heard people were asking on the street about hundred-dollar bills. I assume that means you know about the ransom. I also assume that means you found out about Broadway.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m not talking about him. Attorney-client privilege.”

“Privilege doesn’t cover the other people at the games. And someone at the games could easily have been involved in the kidnapping. Anyone seeing you there would have known you’d come into money and that you had access to large amounts of cash.”

“Sorry, it’s all off-limits.”

“You’d rather protect Broadway than help us find your wife?”

“I’m a lawyer. That means I have professional responsibilities. Those don’t change based on my own circumstances.”

“Well, I’m not asking about your work as a lawyer. I’m asking about you as a player. You found yourself in a lot of debt, didn’t you? And Chelsey knew about it?”

“Yes.”

“Who told her?”

“I don’t know.”

“You two argued about it?”

“Yes, but I paid it all off.”

“Except you were still playing, weren’t you? She was afraid you’d blow through the inheritance. Gamble it away.”

“I have a problem. I admit that. I’m getting help for it.”

“When did you last play?”

He hesitated. “No comment.”

“How was your marriage, Gavin?”

Gavin turned around, and his luminous blue eyes seemed to levitate. “Well, we’re down to it now, aren’t we? You must love this part.”

Stride said nothing, but in fact, he didn’t love this part. He took no joy in exposing the things people liked to keep hidden about their lives. Their secrets. Their lies. He hated ripping off the masks they wore, showing all their vulnerabilities for the rest of the world to see. Being forced to do it made him not like himself very much. But that was the job.

“Your marriage,” he said again, like a dog with a bone.

Gavin looked up at the sky, as if in prayer, and then back at Stride. “Chelsey and I weren’t always happy. I’m sure you’ve already guessed that. She married a corporate lawyer, a man who was supposed to do patents and IP deals and sip martinis at Black Water and hobnob with the city council. Instead, she wound up with a man who bails out drunks and hookers at three in the morning. If there was one tiny bright spot in the horror of losing my sister, it was that I wouldn’t have to make Chelsey struggle anymore.”

“She was afraid you were going to divorce her,” Stride told him. “Take all the money and leave.”

His eyebrows knitted together. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“It’s not true?”

“No.”

“You never talked to a lawyer about divorce?”

“Never.”

“Then why would she think you wanted to split up? Because that’s what she told a friend.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“She told one of your neighbors that the inheritance had changed you. She was concerned for her safety.”

“That’s a lie, Stride. I can’t believe you would make up a story like that.”

“I’m not lying. Chelsey said it, Gavin. We also heard that she may have been having an affair.”

His mouth was a thin flat line. “I wondered.”

“Do you know who it was?”

“No.”

“Did you confront her about it?”

“No. Honestly, I didn’t want to know whether it was true. And it’s not like I’ve been the best husband.”

“So you’ve had affairs, too?”

Gavin ran his hands through his curly hair in exasperation. “Yes. A few times, with clients. It was years ago, when I was depressed and angry about my life. But not since then. Have I been neglectful? Maybe. Working too hard, not paying enough attention to her? I guess. But that’s married life. The fact is, I was trying to change.”

“By taking Cialis? By trying to get Chelsey to try Ecstasy?”

Shock registered on his face. “Jesus. How did you hear about that?”

“That’s not important. Do you see why we’re concerned, Gavin? You inherited millions. You’ve got a gambling problem, and you’re involved with a criminal enterprise you won’t talk about. Your marriage is rocky; your wife is telling people she’s afraid of you. And in the midst of this, she gets kidnapped, and you don’t call the police until the kidnappers have vanished with one hundred thousand dollars and no sign of your wife. What part of that do I have wrong?”

Gavin slammed the mug down on the railing of the deck. Coffee spilled over his hand and onto the grass below.

“Watch your temper, Gavin,” Stride said quietly. “People might get the wrong idea.”

“It doesn’t matter what I say. You already have your mind made up, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t. That’s the truth. But I do want a direct answer. Yes or no. Did you arrange to have your wife kidnapped and killed?”

Gavin sat back down and started to laugh. “Amazing. I see it with clients all the time. I know the shit that the police pull, but wow, you still don’t see it coming when it happens to you. How you people twist and manipulate the ordinary ups and downs of someone’s life to make them look guilty.”

“Inheriting millions of dollars and having your wife disappear a few months later is not ordinary, Gavin. Not ordinary at all. And you didn’t answer my question.”

“The answer is no. I didn’t do it.”

“Do you have any idea who did?”

“No!”

Stride waited, letting the angry flush fade from the man’s pale face. Then he continued. “You were under surveillance for several days before the abduction. We found a hidden camera in your living room.”

“A camera? They were watching us?”

“Yes. That way, the kidnappers knew when Chelsey was alone. They knew when you got back from Rice Lake. They were probably also making sure you didn’t call the police after they made the ransom demand.”

Gavin shook his head. “Bastards.”

“The camera was planted last Thursday. Did you have anyone inside your house that day? Clients? Workers?”

The lawyer took his phone and checked his calendar. “No.”

“Were you home?”

“During the day, yes, but not in the evening. We had a dinner with one of Chelsey’s marketing clients.”

Stride reached into the pocket of his sport coat and drew out a piece of paper. It was an excerpt from Gavin’s cell-phone records. “That same evening, you got a two-minute call on your cell phone. What was that call about?”

“I have no idea. I receive dozens of calls every day.”

“The phone that called you is the same phone that was used to let you know that Chelsey had been kidnapped.”

Gavin’s surprise looked genuine. “Seriously? Is that true?”

He examined the page that Stride had put on the table and noted the yellow highlight on the two calls.

“I swear, I had no idea.”

“What was that call about?”

Gavin rubbed his hands over his face and made a show of trying to think. “I don’t remember. It was probably just a wrong number.”

“For two minutes?”

“I don’t know. Or maybe it was a cold call from a potential client. I get those all the time. People ask for information, I tell them to make an appointment.”

“Are you the only one who answers your phone?”

“Yes.”

“So you talked to the person who called?”

“I suppose I did.”

“Was the person male? Female?”

“I’m telling you, I don’t remember the call!”

“It’s interesting that this call was made on the same day that the kidnappers planted the surveillance camera in your house.”

“So what? Maybe they wanted to make sure I wasn’t home before they broke in.”

“Or you were telling them the coast was clear,” Stride said.

Gavin inhaled sharply, as if ready to explode again. Then he closed his eyes and calmed himself. When he reopened his eyes, he slid back the chair and stood up. He spoke in a low, firm voice. “That’s it. We’re done. I’m not answering any more questions.”

“Okay.”

“You can show yourself out.”

Gavin slid open the sliding glass door and went inside, leaving Stride alone on the deck. The lawyer left his mug of coffee behind.

For a show of outraged innocence, it was convincing. Stride was almost ready to believe him. Then again, he had learned long ago that all lawyers were actors at heart. Storytellers. And whoever told the best story usually won.

Rex Samuels pulled his tow truck into the crowded Saturday parking lot at the Pike Lake Golf Course. Pontoons and paddleboats dotted the nearby lake, and golfers lined up putts on the greens of the flat nine-hole course. It didn’t take him long to spot the car he was looking for. The blue Subaru WRX was parked not far from the lakeshore and close to a lineup of golf carts. The owner leaned against it, scrolling through his phone. The man glanced up and shot him a wave when he saw Rex’s truck arriving. The Subaru had a slight lean to it, thanks to the driver’s front side tire, which was dead flat.

“You’re a lifesaver,” the man said when Rex pulled up next to him and hopped down from the truck.

Rex shrugged. “No problem. You got no spare, huh?”

“Guess not. I bought the car used a few months ago, didn’t even check whether the spare was in there.”

“Well, I’ll get you sorted out,” Rex told him. “I brought two tires with me. Lotta people, they replace the tire on the other side, too, so they both wear the same. But it’s up to you.”

The man shrugged. “You’re here. Might as well do them both. Cash okay?”

Rex grunted his approval.

He wasn’t surprised that the man didn’t ask about the price. And he wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t checked his car for a spare, either. The Subaru driver was tall, in his thirties, with a cool car, cool haircut, cool clothes, and a cool phone. He probably didn’t know how to change a tire. People didn’t know how to do the stuff that mattered anymore. If you could pay cash for new tires without asking the price, well, you had too much money.

Having too much money had never been a problem for Rex, but he didn’t complain. He’d worked behind the wheel of a tow truck since he was nineteen, pulling cars from accident scenes, yanking repos, jump-starting batteries when it was twenty below zero, and changing tires for people who didn’t know how to change tires. Now he was almost fifty. He had what his wife called a Budweiser belly and a Bigfoot beard. All the matted brown hair on his chin compensated for having almost no hair left up top.

“This’ll take a few minutes,” Rex said.

The man whipped a hand through his slicked-back brown hair. “Take your time, man. I’m in no hurry.”

Rex got started. The afternoon sun was warm on his shoulders as he jacked up the Subaru and attacked the lug nuts on the first tire. They were tight, and he had to lean his weight into the wrench to make them turn. The driver stood so close that he practically cast a shadow over Rex, but he was focused on his phone and not on the work being done to the tire.

“How about this kidnapping thing?” the man said. “That’s crazy, right?”

Rex gave a grunt, and his muscles rippled. “Huh?”

“You know, the lawyer whose wife got abducted? What do you think, did he do it? That’s what everybody’s saying.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rex replied.

“Seriously? It’s all over the news.”

“I don’t watch the news.”

“Oh. Well, I can’t blame you for that. It’s mostly shit lately.”

“Shit all the time,” Rex said.

He got the first tire off, and he rolled the new one over and had it attached in a few minutes. He lowered the car, then got ready to do the second tire. He went around to the opposite side, and the owner followed, as if Rex couldn’t be trusted to do the job alone.

“Guy looks guilty to me,” the man went on.

“Who?”

“This lawyer.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, look at those eyes. Creepy, huh?”

The man held his phone in front of Rex’s face. Rex had no choice but to stare at the screen, where he saw a photograph of a man with curly blond hair, a narrow pale face, and blue eyes that looked like something out of a zombie movie.

“Creepy,” Rex had to agree.

He focused on the lug nuts again, which were just as tight on this side of the Subaru. He sweated as he worked and found that he had to use his boot on the wrench to get extra leverage. Finally, he got the first nut off. The others usually came faster. He repositioned the wrench, but he found that he was distracted, and he wasn’t really sure why.

Then he realized that the photograph of the lawyer kept hanging in his mind. The hair. The blank expression. And yeah, especially those eyes.

“Can I see that guy again?” Rex asked.

The driver glanced down at him. “Who, the lawyer? Sure.”

He put the phone back in front of Rex’s face, and Rex let go of the wrench and squinted at the picture. He got so close to it that his nose practically brushed the screen.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Rex said.

“What do you mean? That’s who?”

“I did a job for that guy last weekend.”

The Subaru owner did a double take. “This guy? Gavin Webster?”

“Yup. Flat tire, just like you. Small world, huh?”

“I guess.” The driver squatted in front of Rex and gave him a curious look. “Where was this? Where did you see him?”

Rex rocked back and wiped his brow. “Some dirt road near Island Lake. Took me forever to find him, because there’s nothing but trees up there.”

“What was he doing out there?” the man asked.

“Don’t know. He didn’t tell me, I didn’t ask. I mind my own business. But I live in an area like that. Lotta strangers come down our road. Most of the time, it’s because they’re dumping something they don’t want anybody to find.”